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HE  THIRD 
IOLET 


BY 


STEPHEN       RANE 


University  of  California  •  Berkeley 


THE  THIRD  VIOLET 


Other  Books  by  Stephen  Crane. 


The  Red  Badge  of  Courage* 

An  Episode  of  the  American  Civil  War.     (Four- 
teenth edition.}     I2mo.     Cloth,  $1.00. 

"  Never  before  have  we  had  the  seamy  side  of  glorious  war  so 
well  depicted." — Chicago  Evening  Post. 

"  We  have  had  many  stories  of  the  war;  this  stands  absolutely 
alone." — Boston  Transcript. 

"Has  no  parallel,  unless  it  be  Tolstoy's  'Sebastopol.'" — San 
Francisco  Chronicle. 

"  Has  been  surpassed  by  few  writers  dealing  with  war." — New 
York  Mail  and  Express. 

The  Little  Regiment* 

And  Other  Episodes  of  the  American  Civil  War. 
{Second edition^     I2mo.     Cloth,  $1.00. 

"  The  reader  has  no  privileges.  He  must,  it  seems,  take  his 
place  in  the  ranks,  and  stand  in  the  mud,  wade  in  the  river,  fight, 
yell,  swear  and  sweat  with  the  men.  He  has  some  sort  of  feeling, 
when  it  is  all  over,  that  he  has  been  doing  just  these  things.  This 
sort  of  writing  needs  no  praise.  It  will  make  its  way  to  the  hearts 
of  men  without  praise." — New  York  Times. 

Maggie:  A  Girl  of  the  Streets* 

{Fourth  edition!)     I2mo.     Cloth,  75  cents. 

"  By  writing  '  Maggie '  Mr.  Crane  has  made  for  himself  a  per- 
manent place  in  literature." — New  York  Mail  and  Express. 

"Full  of  clever  descriptions.  .  .  .  Written  in  short,  terse 
sentences,  which  compel  the  imagination  rather  than  stimulate  it" 
— Boston  Herald. 

New  York:  D.  APPLETON  &  COMPANY,  72  Fifth  Avenue. 


Cbe  Cbird  Uiolet 


By 
Stephen  Crane 

Huflw  of  the  Red  Badge  of  Courage, 
the  Eittle  Regiment,  and  Itlaggie 


Vork 
D.  Hpplcton  and  Company 


COPYRIGHT,  1897, 
BY  D.  APPLETON  AND    COMPANY. 


Copyright,  1896,  by  Stephen  Crane. 


THE  THIRD   VIOLET. 


CHAPTER  I. 

THE  engine  bellowed  its  way  up  the 
slanting,  winding  valley.  Grey  crags,  and 
trees  with  roots  fastened  cleverly  to  the 
steeps  looked  down  at  the  struggles  of  the 
black  monster. 

When  the  train  finally  released  its  passen- 
gers they  burst  forth  with  the  enthusiasm  of 
escaping  convicts.  A  great  bustle  ensued  on 
the  platform  of  the  little  mountain  station. 
The  idlers  and  philosophers  from  the  village 
were  present  to  examine  the  consignment  of 
people  from  the  city.  These  latter,  loaded 
with  bundles  and  children,  thronged  at  the 
stage  drivers.  The  stage  drivers  thronged  at 
the  people  from  the  city. 

Hawker,  with  his  clothes  case,  his  paint- 
box, his  easel,  climbed  awkwardly  down  the 


4  THE  THIRD  VIOLET. 

vehicle  the  little  boy  gave  Hawker  a  glance 
of  recognition.  "  It  hurted  then,  but  it's  all 
right  now,"  he  informed  him  cheerfully. 

"Did  it?"  replied  Hawker.  "I'm  sor- 
ry." 

"  Oh,  I  didn't  mind  it  much,"  continued  the 
little  boy,  swinging  his  long,  red-leather  leg- 
gings bravely  to  and  fro.  "  I  don't  cry  when 
I'm  hurt,  anyhow."  He  cast  a  meaning  look 
at  his  tiny  sister,  whose  soft  lips  set  defen- 
sively. 

The  driver  climbed  into  his  seat,  and  after 
a  scrutiny  of  the  group  in  the  gloom  of  the 
stage  he  chirped  to  his  horses.  They  began  a 
slow  and  thoughtful  trotting.  Dust  streamed 
out  behind  the  vehicle.  In  front,  the  green 
hills  were  still  and  serene  in  the  evening  air. 
A  beam  of  gold  struck  them  aslant,  and  on 
the  sky  was  lemon  and  pink  information  of 
the  sun's  sinking.  The  driver  knew  many 
people  along  the  road,  and  from  time  to  time 
he  conversed  with  them  in  yells. 

The  two  children  were  opposite  Hawker. 
They  sat  very  correctly  mucilaged  to  their 
seats,  but  their  large  eyes  were  always  upon 
Hawker,  calmly  valuing  him. 


THE  THIRD  VIOLET.  5 

"  Do  you  think  it  nice  to  be  in  the  coun- 
try ?  I  do,"  said  the  boy. 

"  I  like  it  very  well,"  answered   Hawker. 

"  I  shall  go  fishing,  and  hunting,  and  every- 
thing. Maybe  I  shall  shoot  a  bears." 

11 1  hope  you  may." 

"  Did  you  ever  shoot  a  bears  ?  " 

"  No." 

"Well,  I  didn't,  too,  but  maybe  I  will. 
Mister  Hollanden,  he  said  he'd  look  around  for 
one.  Where  I  live " 

"  Roger,"  interrupted  the  mother  from  her 
seat  at  Hawker's  side,  "  perhaps  every  one  is 
not  interested  in  your  conversation."  The 
boy  seemed  embarrassed  at  this  interruption, 
for  he  leaned  back  in  silence  with  an  apolo- 
getic look  at  Hawker.  Presently  the  stage 
began  to  climb  the  hills,  and  the  two  children 
were  obliged  to  take  grip  upon  the  cushions 
for  fear  of  being  precipitated  upon  the  nurse- 
maid. 

Fate  had  arranged  it  so  that  Hawker  could 
not  observe  the  girl  with  the — the — the  dis- 
tance in  her  eyes  without  leaning  forward  and 
discovering  to  her  his  interest.  Secretly  and 
impiously  he  wriggled  in  his  seat,  and  as  the 


6  THE  THIRD  VIOLET. 

bumping  stage  swung  its  passengers  this  way 
and  that  way,  he  obtained  fleeting  glances  of 
a  cheek,  an  arm,  or  a  shoulder. 

The  driver's  conversation  tone  to  his 
passengers  was  also  a  yell.  "  Train  was 
an  hour  late  t'night,"  he  said,  addressing 
the  interior.  "  It'll  be  nine  o'clock  before 
we  git  t'  th'  inn,  an'  it'll  be  perty  dark  trav- 
ellin'." 

Hawker  waited  decently,  but  at  last  he 
said,  -Will  it?" 

"Yes.  No  moon."  He  turned  to  face 
Hawker,  and  roared,  "You're  ol'  Jim  Haw- 
ker's son,  hain't  yeh?" 

"  Yes." 

"  I  thort  I'd  seen  yeh  b'fore.  Live  in  the 
city  now,  don't  yeh  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Want  t'  git  off  at  th'  cross-road  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Come  up  fer  a  little  stay  doorin'  th'  sum- 
mer?" 

"  Yes." 

"  On'y  charge  yeh  a  quarter  if  yeh  git  off 
at  cross-road.  Useter  charge  'em  fifty  cents, 
but  I  ses  t'  th'  oF  man,  *  Tain't  no  use.  Gol- 


THE   THIRD  VIOLET.  j 

dern   'em,  they'll  walk  ruther'n  put  up  fifty 
cents.'     Yep.     On'y  a  quarter." 

In  the  shadows  Hawker's  expression 
seemed  assassinlike.  He  glanced  furtively 
down  the  stage.  She  was  apparently  deep  in 
talk  with  the  mother  of  the  children. 


CHAPTER  II. 

WHEN  Hawker  pushed  at  the  old  gate,  it 
hesitated  because  of  a  broken  hinge.  A  dog 
barked  with  loud  ferocity  and  came  headlong 
over  the  grass. 

"  Hello,  Stanley,  old  man !  "  cried  Hawker. 
The  ardour  for  battle  was  instantly  smitten 
from  the  dog,  and  his  barking  swallowed  in 
a  gurgle  of  delight.  He  was  a  large  orange 
and  white  setter,  and  he  partly  expressed  his 
emotion  by  twisting  his  body  into  a  fantastic 
curve  and  then  dancing  over  the  ground  with 
his  head  and  his  tail  very  near  to  each  other. 
He  gave  vent  to  little  sobs  in  a  wild  attempt 
to  vocally  describe  his  gladness.  "  Well,  'e 
was  a  dreat  dod,"  said  Hawker,  and  the  setter, 
overwhelmed,  contorted  himself  wonderfully. 

There  were  lights  in  the  kitchen,  and  at  the 
first  barking  of  the  dog  the  door  had  been 
thrown  open.  Hawker  saw  his  two  sisters 

shading  their  eyes  and  peering  down  the  yel- 

8 


THE  THIRD  VIOLET.  9 

low  stream.  Presently  they  shouted,  "  Here 
he  is !  "  They  flung  themselves  out  and  upon 
him.  "  Why,  Will !  why,  Will !  "  they  panted. 
"  We're  awful  glad  to  see  you !  "  In  a  whirl- 
wind of  ejaculation  and  unanswerable  interro- 
gation they  grappled  the  clothes  case,  the 
paint-box,  the  easel,  and  dragged  him  toward 
the  house. 

He  saw  his  old  mother  seated  in  a  rocking- 
chair  by  the  table.  She  had  laid  aside  her 
paper  and  was  adjusting  her  glasses  as  she 
scanned  the  darkness.  "  Hello,  mother ! " 
cried  Hawker,  as  he  entered.  His  eyes  were 
bright.  The  old  mother  reached  her  arms  to 
his  neck.  She  murmured  soft  and  half-articu- 
late words.  Meanwhile  the  dog  writhed  from 
one  to  another.  He  raised  his  muzzle  high  to 
express  his  delight.  He  was  always  fully  con- 
vinced that  he  was  taking  a  principal  part  in 
this  ceremony  of  welcome  and  that  everybody 
was  heeding  him. 

"Have  you  had  your  supper ?"  asked  the 
old  mother  as  soon  as  she  recovered  herself. 
The  girls  clamoured  sentences  at  him.  "  Pa's 
out  in  the  barn,  Will.  What  made  you  so 
late  ?  He  said  maybe  he'd  go  up  to  the  cross- 


IO  THE   THIRD  VIOLET. 

roads  to  see  if  he  could  see  the  stage.  Maybe 
he's  gone.  What  made  you  so  late?  And, 
oh,  we  got  a  new  buggy !  " 

The  old  mother  repeated  anxiously,  "  Have 
you  had  your  supper  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Hawker,  "  but " 

The  three  women  sprang  to  their  feet. 
"  Well,  we'll  git  you  something  right  away." 
They  bustled  about  the  kitchen  and  dove 
from  time  to  time  into  the  cellar.  They 
called  to  each  other  in  happy  voices. 

Steps  sounded  on  the  line  of  stones  that 
led  from  the  door  toward  the  barn,  and  a 
shout  came  from  the  darkness.  "  Well,  Wil- 
liam, home  again,  hey?"  Hawker's  grey 
father  came  stamping  genially  into  the  room. 
"  I  thought  maybe  you  got  lost.  I  was  corn- 
in'  to  hunt  you,"  he  said,  grinning,  as  they 
stood  with  gripped  hands.  "  What  made  you 
so  late  ?  " 

While  Hawker  confronted  the  supper  the 
family  sat  about  and  contemplated  him  with 
shining  eyes.  His  sisters  noted  his  tie  and 
propounded  some  questions  concerning  it. 
His  mother  watched  to  make  sure  that  he 
should  consume  a  notable  quantity  of  the  pre- 


THE   THIRD   VIOLET.  u 

served  cherries.  "  He  used  to  be  so  fond  of 
'em  when  he  was  little,"  she  said. 

"  Oh,  Will,"  cried  the  younger  sister,  "  do 
you  remember  Lil'  Johnson  ?  Yeh  ?  She's 
married.  Married  las'  June." 

"Is  the  boy's  room  all  ready,  mother?" 
asked  the  father. 

"  We  fixed  it  this  mornin',"  she  said. 

"And  do  you  remember  Jeff  Decker?" 
shouted  the  elder  sister.  "  Well,  he's  dead. 
Yep.  Drowned,  pickerel  fishin' — poor  fel- 
ler !  " 

"  Well,  how  are  you  gitting  along,  Wil- 
liam ? "  asked  the  father.  "  Sell  many  pic- 
tures ? " 

"  An  occasional  one." 

"  Saw  your  illustrations  in  the  May  num- 
ber of  Perkinson's."  The  old  man  paused  for 
a  moment,  and  then  added,  quite  weakly, 
"  Pretty  good." 

"  How's  everything  about  the  place  ?  " 

"  Oh,  just  about  the  same — 'bout  the  same. 
The  colt  run  away  with  me  last  week,  but 
didn't  break  nothin',  though.  I  was  scared, 
because  I  had  out  the  new  buggy — we  got  a 
new  buggy — but  it  didn't  break  nothin'.  I'm 


12  THE  THIRD  VIOLET. 

goin'  to  sell  the  oxen  in  the  fall ;  I  don't  want 
to  winter  'em.  And  then  in  the  spring  I'll 
get  a  good  hoss  team.  I  rented  th'  back  five- 
acre  to  John  Westfall.  I  had  more'n  I  could 
handle  with  only  one  hired  hand.  Times  is 
pickin'  up  a  little,  but  not  much — not  much." 

"  And  we  got  a  new  school-teacher,"  said 
one  of  the  girls. 

"  Will,  you  never  noticed  my  new  rocker," 
said  the  old  mother,  pointing.  "  I  set  it  right 
where  I  thought  you'd  see  it,  and  you  never 
took  no  notice.  Ain't  it  nice  ?  Father  bought 
it  at  Monticello  for  my  birthday.  I  thought 
you'd  notice  it  first  thing." 

When  Hawker  had  retired  for  the  night, 
he  raised  a  sash  and  sat  by  the  window  smok- 
ing. The  odour  of  the  woods  and  the  fields 
came  sweetly  to  his  nostrils.  The  crickets 
chanted  their  hymn  of  the  night.  On  the 
black  brow  of  the  mountain  he  could  see  two 
long  rows  of  twinkling  dots  which  marked 
the  position  of  Hemlock  Inn. 


CHAPTER   III. 

HAWKER  had  a  writing  friend  named  Hol- 
landen.  In  New  York  Hollanden  had  an- 
nounced his  resolution  to  spend  the  summer 
at  Hemlock  Inn.  "  I  don't  like  to  see  the 
world  progressing,"  he  had  said ;  "  I  shall  go 
to  Sullivan  County  for  a  time." 

In  the  morning  Hawker  took  his  painting 
equipment,  and  after  manoeuvring  in  the  fields 
until  he  had  proved  to  himself  that  he  had  no 
desire  to  go  toward  the  inn,  he  went  toward 
it.  The  time  was  only  nine  o'clock,  and  he 
knew  that  he  could  not  hope  to  see  Hollanden 
before  eleven,  as  it  was  only  through  rumour 
that  Hollanden  was  aware  that  there  was  a 
sunrise  and  an  early  morning. 

Hawker  encamped  in  front  of  some  fields 
of  vivid  yellow  stubble  on  which  trees  made 
olive  shadows,  and  which  was  overhung  by  a 
china-blue  sky  and  sundry  little  white  clouds. 

He  fiddled  away  perfunctorily  at  it.     A  spec- 
2  13 


14  THE   THIRD  VIOLET. 

tator  would  have  believed,  probably,  that  he 
was  sketching  the  pines  on  the  hill  where 
shone  the  red  porches  of  Hemlock  Inn. 

Finally,  a  white-flannel  young  man  walked 
into  the  landscape.  Hawker  waved  a  brush. 
"  Hi,  Hollie,  get  out  of  the  colour-scheme !  " 

At  this  cry  the  white-flannel  young  man 
looked  down  at  his  feet  apprehensively.  Fi- 
nally he  came  forward  grinning.  "  Why, 
hello,  Hawker,  old  boy  !  Glad  to  find  you 
here."  He  perched  on  a  boulder  and  began 
to  study  Hawker's  canvas  and  the  vivid 
yellow  stubble  with  the  olive  shadows.  He 
wheeled  his  eyes  from  one  to  the  other.  "  Say, 
Hawker,"  he  said  suddenly,  "  why  don't  you 
marry  Miss  Fanhall?" 

Hawker  had  a  brush  in  his  mouth,  but  he 
took  it  quickly  out,  and  said,  "  Marry  Miss 
Fanhall  ?  Who  the  devil  is  Miss  Fanhall  ?  " 

Hollanden  clasped  both  hands  about  his 
knee  and  looked  thoughtfully  away.  "  Oh, 
she's  a  girl." 

"She  is?"  said   Hawker. 

"Yes.  She  came  to  the  inn  last  night 
with  her  sister-in-law  and  a  small  tribe  of 
young  Fanhalls.  There's  six  of  them,  I  think." 


THE   THIRD  VIOLET.  jj 

"  Two,"  said  Hawker,  "  a  boy  and  a  girl." 

"  How  do  you — oh,  you  must  have  come 
up  with  them.  Of  course.  Why,  then  you 
saw  her." 

"  Was  that  her  ?  "  asked  Hawker  list- 
lessly. 

"Was  that  her?"  cried  Hollanden,  with 
indignation.  "  Was  that  her  ?" 

"  Oh  !  "  said  Hawker. 

Hollanden  mused  again.  "  She's  got  lots 
of  money,"  he  said.  "  Loads  of  it.  And  I 
think  she  would  be  fool  enough  to  have  sym- 
pathy for  you  in  your  work.  They  are  a 
tremendously  wealthy  crowd,  although  they 
treat  it  simply.  It  would  be  a  good  thing  for 
you.  I  believe — yes,  I  am  sure  she  could  be 
fool  enough  to  have  sympathy  for  you  in  your 
work.  And  now,  if  you  weren't  such  a  hope- 
less chump " 

"  Oh,  shut  up,  Hollie,"  said  the  painter. 

For  a  time  Hollanden  did  as  he  was  bid, 
but  at  last  he  talked  again.  "  Can't  think  why 
they  came  up  here.  Must  be  her  sister-in- 
law's  health.  Something  like  that.  She " 

"Great  heavens,"  said  Hawker,  "you 
speak  of  nothing  else !  " 


l6  THE   THIRD  VIOLET. 

"Well,  you  saw  her,  didn't  you?"  de- 
manded Hollanden.  "What  can  you  expect, 
then,  from  a  man  of  my  sense?  You— you 
old  stick — you " 

"  It  was  quite  dark,"  protested  the  painter. 

"  Quite  dark,"  repeated  Hollanden,  in  a 
wrathful  voice.  "  What  if  it  was  ?  " 

"  Well,  that  is  bound  to  make  a  difference 
in  a  man's  opinion,  you  know." 

"  No,  it  isn't.  It  was  light  down  at  the 
railroad  station,  anyhow.  If  you  had  any 
sand — thunder,  but  I  did  get  up  early  this 
morning  !  Say,  do  you  play  tennis  ?  " 

"  After  a  fashion,"  said  Hawker.    "  Why  ?  " 

"  Oh,  nothing,"  replied  Hollanden  sadly. 
"  Only  they  are  wearing  me  out  at  the  game. 
I  had  to  get  up  and  play  before  breakfast  this 
morning  with  the  Worcester  girls,  and  there 
is  a  lot  more  mad  players  who  will  be  down 
on  me  before  long.  It's  a  terrible  thing  to  be 
a  tennis  player." 

"  Why,  you  used  to  put  yourself  out  so 
little  for  people,"  remarked  Hawker. 

"  Yes,  but  up  there  " — Hollanden  jerked 
his  thumb  in  the  direction  of  the  inn — "  they 
think  I'm  so  amiable." 


THE   THIRD   VIOLET.  iy 

"  Well,  I'll  come  up  and  help  you  out." 

"  Do,"  Hollanden  laughed  ;  "  you  and  Miss 
Fanhall  can  team  it  against  the  littlest  Worces- 
ter girl  and  me."  He  regarded  the  landscape 
and  meditated.  Hawker  struggled  for  a  grip 
on  the  thought  of  the  stubble. 

"That  colour  of  hair  and  eyes  always  knocks 
me  kerplunk,"  observed  Hollanden  softly. 

Hawker  looked  up  irascibly.  "  What 
colour  hair  and  eyes  ? "  he  demanded.  "  I 
believe  you're  crazy." 

"What  colour  hair  and  eyes?"  repeated 
Hollanden,  with  a  savage  gesture.  "You've 
got  no  more  appreciation  than  a  post." 

"They  are  good  enough  for  me,"  mut- 
tered Hawker,  turning  again  to  his  work.  He 
scowled  first  at  the  canvas  and  then  at  the 
stubble.  "  Seems  to  me  you  had  best  take 
care  of  yourself,  instead  of  planning  for  me," 
he  said. 

"Me!"  cried  Hollanden.  "Me!  Take 
care  of  myself !  My  boy,  I've  got  a  past  of 
sorrow  and  gloom.  I " 

"You're  nothing  but  a  kid,"  said  Hawker, 
glaring  at  the  other  man. 

"  Oh,  of  course,"  said  Hollanden,  wagging 


18  THE  THIRD  VIOLET. 

his  head  with  midnight  wisdom.  "  Oh,  of 
course." 

"  Well,  Hollie,"  said  Hawker,  with  sudden 
affability,  "  I  didn't  mean  to  be  unpleasant,  but 
then  you  are  rather  ridiculous,  you  know,  sit- 
ting up  there  and  howling  about  the  colour  of 
hair  and  eyes." 

"  I'm  not  ridiculous." 

"  Yes,  you  are,  you  know,  Hollie." 

The  writer  waved  his  hand  despairingly. 
"  And  you  rode  in  the  train  with  her,  and  in 
the  stage." 

"  I  didn't  see  her  in  the  train,"  said  Haw- 
ker. 

"  Oh,  then  you  saw  her  in  the  stage.  Ha- 
ha,  you  old  thief !  I  sat  up  here,  and  you  sat 
down  there  and  lied."  He  jumped  from  his 
perch  and  belaboured  Hawker's  shoulders. 

"Stop  that!"  said  the  painter. 

"  Oh,  you  old  thief,  you  lied  to  me  !  You 

lied Hold  on — bless  my  life,  here  she 

comes  now ! " 


CHAPTER   IV. 

ONE  day  Hollanden  said :  "  There  are 
forty-two  people  at  Hemlock  Inn,  I  think. 
Fifteen  are  middle-aged  ladies  of  the  most 
aggressive  respectability.  They  have  come 
here  for  no  discernible  purpose  save  to  get 
where  they  can  see  people  and  be  displeased 
at  them.  They  sit  in  a  large  group  on  that 
porch  and  take  measurements  of  character  as 
importantly  as  if  they  constituted  the  jury  of 
heaven.  When  I  arrived  at  Hemlock  Inn  I 
at  once  cast  my  eye  searchingly  about  me. 
Perceiving  this  assemblage,  I  cried,  'There 
they  are ! '  Barely  waiting  to  change  my 
clothes,  I  made  for  this  formidable  body  and 
endeavoured  to  conciliate  it.  Almost  every 
day  I  sit  down  among  them  and  lie  like  a 
machine.  Privately  I  believe  they  should  be 
hanged,  but  publicly  I  glisten  with  admira- 
tion. Do  you  know,  there  is  one  of  'em  who 

I  know  has  not  moved  from  the  inn  in  eight 

19 


20  THE   THIRD  VIOLET. 

days,  and  this  morning  I  said  to  her,  '  These 
long  walks  in  the  clear  mountain  air  are  doing 
you  a  world  of  good/  And  I  keep  contin- 
ually saying,  *  Your  frankness  is  so  charm- 
ing ! '  Because  of  the  great  law  of  universal 
balance,  I  know  that  this  illustrious  corps  will 
believe  good  of  themselves  with  exactly  the 
same  readiness  that  they  will  believe  ill  of 
others.  So  I  ply  them  with  it.  In  conse- 
quence, the  worst  they  ever  say  of  me  is,  '  Isn't 
that  Mr.  Hollanden  a  peculiar  man?'  And 
you  know,  my  boy,  that's  not  so  bad  for  a 
literary  person."  After  some  thought  he 
added :  "  Good  people,  too.  Good  wives, 
good  mothers,  and  everything  of  that  kind, 
you  know.  But  conservative,  very  conserva- 
tive. Hate  anything  radical.  Can  not  en- 
dure it.  Were  that  way  themselves  once,  you 
know.  They  hit  the  mark,  too,  sometimes. 
Such  general  volleyings  can't  fail  to  hit  every- 
thing. May  the  devil  fly  away  with  them  ! " 

Hawker  regarded  the  group  nervously, 
and  at  last  propounded  a  great  question : 
"  Say,  I  wonder  where  they  all  are  recruited  ? 
When  you  come  to  think  that  almost  every 
summer  hotel " 


THE   THIRD  VIOLET.  2I 

"  Certainly,"  said  Hollander!,  "  almost 
every  summer  hotel.  I've  studied  the  ques- 
tion, and  have  nearly  established  the  fact  that 
almost  every  summer  hotel  is  furnished  with 
a  full  corps  of " 

"  To  be  sure,"  said  Hawker ;  "  and  if  you 
search  for  them  in  the  winter,  you  can  find 
barely  a  sign  of  them,  until  you  examine  the 
boarding  houses,  and  then  you  observe " 

"Certainly,"  said  Hollanden,  "of  course. 
By  the  way,"  he  added,  "you  haven't  got  any 
obviously  loose  screws  in  your  character, 
have  you  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Hawker,  after  consideration, 
"only  general  poverty — that's  all." 

"  Of  course,  of  course,"  said  Hollanden. 
"  But  that's  bad.  They'll  get  on  to  you,  sure. 
Particularly  since  you  come  up  here  to  see 
Miss  Fanhall  so  much." 

Hawker  glinted  his  eyes  at  his  friend. 
"  You've  got  a  deuced  open  way  of  speaking," 
he  observed. 

"  Deuced  open,  is  it  ? "  cried  Hollanden. 
"  It  isn't  near  so  open  as  your  devotion  to 
Miss  Fanhall,  which  is  as  plain  as  a  red  pet- 
ticoat hung  on  a  hedge." 


22  THE   THIRD  VIOLET. 

Hawker's  face  gloomed,  and  he  said, 
"  Well,  it  might  be  plain  to  you,  you  infernal 
cat,  but  that  doesn't  prove  that  all  those  old 
hens  can  see  it." 

"  I  tell  you  that  if  they  look  twice  at  you 
they  can't  fail  to  see  it.  And  it's  bad,  too. 
Very  bad.  What's  the  matter  with  you? 
Haven't  you  ever  been  in  love  before?" 

"  None  of  your  business,"  replied  Hawker. 

Hollanden  thought  upon  this  point  for  a 
time.  "Well,"  he  admitted  finally,  "that's 
true  in  a  general  way,  but  I  hate  to  see  you 
managing  your  affairs  so  stupidly." 

Rage  flamed  into  Hawker's  face,  and  he 
cried  passionately,  "  I  tell  you  it  is  none  of 
your  business !  "  He  suddenly  confronted  the 
other  man. 

Hollanden  surveyed  this  outburst  with  a 
critical  eye,  and  then  slapped  his  knee  with 
emphasis.  "  You  certainly  have  got  it — a 
million  times  worse  than  I  thought.  Why, 
you — you — you're  heels  over  head." 

"  What  if  I  am  ? "  said  Hawker,  with  a 
gesture  of  defiance  and  despair. 

Hollanden  saw  a  dramatic  situation  in  the 
distance,  and  with  a  bright  smile  he  studied  it. 


THE   THIRD   VIOLET.  23 

"  Say,"  he  exclaimed,  "  suppose  she  should 
not  go  to  the  picnic  to-morrow  ?  She  said 
this  morning  she  did  not  know  if  she  could 
go.  Somebody  was  expected  from  New 
York,  I  think.  Wouldn't  it  break  you  up, 
though!  Eh?" 

"  You're  so  dev'lish  clever !  "  said  Hawker, 
with  sullen  irony. 

Hollanden  was  still  regarding  the  distant 
dramatic  situation.  "And  rivals,  too!  The 
woods  must  be  crowded  with  them.  A  girl 
like  that,  you  know.  And  then  all  that 
money !  Say,  your  rivals  must  number 
enough  to  make  a  brigade  of  militia.  Im- 
agine them  swarming  around  !  But  then  it 
doesn't  matter  so  much,"  he  went  on  cheer- 
fully ;  "  you've  got  a  good  play  there.  You 
must  appreciate  them  to  her — you  under- 
stand ? — appreciate  them  kindly,  like  a  man  in 
a  watch-tower.  You  must  laugh  at  them  only 
about  once  a  week,  and  then  very  tolerantly — 
you  understand? — and  kindly,  and — and  ap- 
preciatively." 

"  You're  a  colossal  ass,  Hollie !  "  said  Haw- 
ker. "You " 

"Yes,  yes,    I    know,"   replied    the    other 


24  THE  THIRD  VIOLET. 

peacefully ;  "  a  colossal  ass.  Of  course." 
After  looking  into  the  distance  again,  he  mur- 
mured :  "  I'm  worried  about  that  picnic.  I 
wish  I  knew  she  was  going.  By  heavens,  as 
a  matter  of  fact,  she  must  be  made  to  go ! " 

"  What  have  you  got  to  do  with  it  ?  "  cried 
the  painter,  in  another  sudden  outburst. 

"There!  there!"  said  Hollanden,  waving 
his  hand.  "You  fool!  Only  a  spectator,  I 
assure  you." 

Hawker  seemed  overcome  then  with  a 
deep  dislike  of  himself.  "  Oh,  well,  you 

know,  Hollie,  this  sort  of  thing "  He 

broke  off  and  gazed  at  the  trees.  "  This  sort 
of  thing It " 

"How?"  asked  Hollanden. 

"  Confound  you  for  a  meddling,  gabbling 
idiot !  "  cried  Hawker  suddenly. 

Hollanden  replied,  "  What  did  you  do 
with  that  violet  she  dropped  at  the  side  of  the 
tennis  court  yesterday  ?  " 


CHAPTER  V. 

MRS.  FANHALL,  with  the  two  children,  the 
Worcester  girls,  and  Hollanden,  clambered 
down  the  rocky  path.  Miss  Fanhall  and 
Hawker  had  remained  on  top  of  the  ledge. 
Hollanden  showed  much  zeal  in  conducting 
his  contingent  to  the  foot  of  the  falls. 
Through  the  trees  they  could  see  the  cata- 
ract, a  great  shimmering  white  thing,  boom- 
ing and  thundering  until  all  the  leaves  gently 
shuddered. 

"I  wonder  where  Miss  Fanhall  and  Mr. 
Hawker  have  gone?"  said  the  younger  Miss 
Worcester.  "  I  wonder  where  they've  gone?  " 

"  Millicent,"  said  Hollander,  looking  at  her 
fondly,  "you  always  had  such  great  thought 
for  others." 

"  Well,  I  wonder  where  they've  gone  ? " 

At  the  foot  of  the  falls,  where  the  mist 
arose  in  silver  clouds  and  the  green  water 

swept    into    the    pool,    Miss    Worcester,   the 
25 


26  THE   THIRD   VIOLET. 

elder,  seated  on  the  moss,  exclaimed,  "  Oh, 
Mr.  Hollander!,  what  makes  all  literary  men 
so  peculiar?" 

"And  all  that  just  because  I  said  that  I 
could  have  made  better  digestive  organs  than 
Providence,  if  it  is  true  that  he  made  mine," 
replied  Hollanden,  with  reproach.  "Here, 
Roger,"  he  cried,  as  he  dragged  the  child 
away  from  the  brink,  "don't  fall  in  there,  or 
you  won't  be  the  full-back  at  Yale  in  1907,  as 
you  have  planned.  I'm  sure  I  don't  know 
how  to  answer  you,  Miss  Worcester.  I've 
inquired  of  innumerable  literary  men,  and 
none  of  'em  know.  I  may  say  I  have  chased 
that  problem  for  years.  I  might  give  you  my 
personal  history,  and  see  if  that  would  throw 
any  light  on  the  subject."  He  looked  about 
him  with  chin  high  until  his  glance  had  noted 
the  two  vague  figures  at  the  top  of  the  cliff. 
"  I  might  give  you  my  personal  history " 

Mrs.  Fanhall  looked  at  him  curiously,  and 
the  elder  Worcester  girl  cried,  "  Oh,  do  !  " 

After  another  scanning  of  the  figures  at 
the  top  of  the  cliff,  Hollanden  established  him- 
self in  an  oratorical  pose  on  a  great  weather- 
beaten  stone.  "  Well — you  must  understand 


THE   THIRD   VIOLET.  27 

— I  started  my  career — my  career,  you  under- 
stand— with  a  determination  to  be  a  prophet, 
and,  although  I  have  ended  in  being  an  acro- 
bat, a  trained  bear  of  the  magazines,  and  a 
juggler  of  comic  paragraphs,  there  was  once 
carved  upon  my  lips  a  smile  which  made 
many  people  detest  me,  for  it  hung  before 
them  like  a  banshee  whenever  they  tried  to 
be  satisfied  with  themselves.  I  was  informed 
from  time  to  time  that  I  was  making  no  great 
holes  in  the  universal  plan,  and  I  came  to 
know  that  one  person  in  every  two  thousand 
of  the  people  I  saw  had  heard  of  me,  and  that 
four  out  of  five  of  these  had  forgotten  it. 
And  then  one  in  every  two  of  those  who  re- 
membered that  they  had  heard  of  me  regarded 
the  fact  that  I  wrote  as  a  great  impertinence. 
I  admitted  these  things,  and  in  defence  merely 
builded  a  maxim  that  stated  that  each  wise 
man  in  this  world  is  concealed  amid  some 
twenty  thousand  fools.  If  you  have  eyes  for 
mathematics,  this  conclusion  should  interest 
you.  Meanwhile  I  created  a  gigantic  dignity, 
and  when  men  saw  this  dignity  and  heard 
that  I  was  a  literary  man  they  respected  me. 
I  concluded  that  the  simple  campaign  of  exist- 


28  THE   THIRD   VIOLET. 

ence  for  me  was  to  delude  the  populace,  or  as 
much  of  it  as  would  look  at  me.  I  did.  I  do. 
And  now  I  can  make  myself  quite  happy  con- 
cocting sneers  about  it.  Others  may  do  as 
they  please,  but  as  for  me,"  he  concluded 
ferociously,  "  I  shall  never  disclose  to  any- 
body  that  an  acrobat,  a  trained  bear  of  the 
magazines,  a  juggler  of  comic  paragraphs,  is 
not  a  priceless  pearl  of  art  and  philosophy." 

"  I  don't  believe  a  word  of  it  is  true,"  said 
Miss  Worcester. 

"  What  do  you  expect  of  autobiography  ?  " 
demanded  Hollanden,  with  asperity. 

"  Well,  anyhow,  Hollie,"  exclaimed  the 
younger  sister,  "you  didn't  explain  a  thing 
about  how  literary  men  came  to  be  so  pecul- 
iar, and  that's  what  you  started  out  to  do,  you 
know." 

"  Well,"  said  Hollanden  crossly,  "  you 
must  never  expect  a  man  to  do  what  he  starts 
to  do,  Millicent.  And  besides,"  he  went  on, 
with  the  gleam  of  a  sudden  idea  in  his  eyes, 
"  literary  men  are  not  peculiar,  anyhow." 

The  elder  Worcester  girl  looked  angrily 
at  him.  "  Indeed  ?  Not  you,  of  course,  but 
the  others." 


THE   THIRD   VIOLET. 


29 


"  They  are  all  asses,"  said  Hollander!  gen- 
ially. 

The  elder  Worcester  girl  reflected.  "  I 
believe  you  try  to  make  us  think  and  then  just 
tangle  us  up  purposely  I  " 

The  younger  Worcester  girl  reflected. 
"You  are  an  absurd  old  thing,  you  know, 
Hollie  I  " 

Hollanden  climbed  offendedly  from  the 
great  weather-beaten  stone.  "  Well,  I  shall 
go  and  see  that  the  men  have  not  spilled  the 
luncheon  while  breaking  their  necks  over 
these  rocks.  Would  you  like  to  have  it 
spread  here,  Mrs.  Fanhall  ?  Never  mind  con- 
sulting the  girls.  I  assure  you  I  shall  spend  a 
great  deal  of  energy  and  temper  in  bullying 
them  into  doing  just  as  they  please.  Why, 
when  I  was  in  Brussels " 

"  Oh,  come  now,  Hollie,  you  never  were 
in  Brussels,  you  know,"  said  the  younger 
Worcester  girl. 

''What  of  that,  Millicent?"  demanded 
Hollanden.  "  This  is  autobiography." 

"  Well,  I  don't  care,  Hollie.  You  tell  such 
whoppers." 

With  a  gesture  of  despair  he  again  start- 


30  THE   THIRD  VIOLET. 

ed  away ;  whereupon  the  Worcester  girls 
shouted  in  chorus,  "  Oh,  I  say,  Hollie,  come 
back !  Don't  be  angry.  We  didn't  mean  to 
tease  you,  Hollie — really,  we  didn't !  " 

"Well,  if  you  didn't,"  said  Hollanden, 
"  why  did  you " 

The  elder  Worcester  girl  was  gazing  fixed- 
ly at  the  top  of  the  cliff.  "  Oh,  there  they  are ! 
I  wonder  why  they  don't  come  down  ?  " 


CHAPTER  VI. 

STANLEY,  the  setter,  walked  to  the  edge  of 
the  precipice  and,  looking  over  at  the  falls, 
wagged  his  tail  in  friendly  greeting.  He  was 
braced  warily,  so  that  if  this  howling  white 
animal  should  reach  up  a  hand  for  him  he 
could  flee  in  time. 

The  girl  stared  dreamily  at  the  red-stained 
crags  that  projected  from  the  pines  of  the  hill 
across  the  stream.  Hawker  lazily  aimed  bits 
of  moss  at  the  oblivious  dog  and  missed  him. 

"  It  must  be  fine  to  have  something  to 
think  of  beyond  just  living,"  said  the  girl  to 
the  crags. 

"  I  suppose  you  mean  art  ?  "  said  Hawker. 

"  Yes,  of  course.  It  must  be  finer,  at  any 
rate,  than  the  ordinary  thing." 

He  mused  for  a  time.  "Yes.  It  is — it 
must  be,"  he  said.  "  But  then — I'd  rather  just 
lie  here." 

The  girl  seemed  aggrieved.     "  Oh,  no,  you 
31 


32  THE   THIRD   VIOLET. 

wouldn't.  You  couldn't  stop.  It's  dreadful 
to  talk  like  that,  isn't  it?  I  always  thought 
that  painters  were " 

"  Of  course.  They  should  be.  Maybe 
they  are.  I  don't  know.  Sometimes  I  am. 
But  not  to-day." 

"  Well,  I  should  think  you  ought  to  be  so 
much  more  contented  than  just  ordinary  peo- 
ple. Now,  I " 

"  You  !  "  he  cried — "you  are  not  'just  ordi- 
nary people.' ' 

"  Well,  but  when  I  try  to  recall  what  I 
have  thought  about  in  my  life,  I  can't  remem- 
ber, you  know.  That's  what  I  mean." 

"  You  shouldn't  talk  that  way,"  he  told  her. 

"  But  why  do  you  insist  that  life  should  be 
so  highly  absorbing  for  me  ?  " 

"You  have  everything  you  wish  for,"  he 
answered,  in  a  voice  of  deep  gloom. 

"  Certainly  not.     I  am  a  woman." 

"  But " 

"  A  woman,  to  have  everything  she  wishes 
for,  would  have  to  be  Providence.  There  are 
some  things  that  are  not  in  the  world." 

"  Well,  what  are  they  ?  "  he  asked  of  her. 

"  That's  just  it,"   she    said,   nodding    her 


THE   THIRD  VIOLET.  33 

head,  "no  one  knows.  That's  what  makes  the 
trouble." 

"  Well,  you  are  very  unreasonable." 

"What?" 

"  You  are  very  unreasonable.  If  I  were 
you — an  heiress " 

The  girl  flushed  and  turned  upon  him  an- 
grily. 

"  Well !  "  he  glowered  back  at  her.  "  You 
are,  you  know.  You  can't  deny  it." 

She  looked  at  the  red-stained  crags.  At 
last  she  said,  "  You  seemed  really  contemptu- 
ous." 

"  Well,  I  assure  you  that  I  do  not  feel  con- 
temptuous. On  the  contrary,  I  am  filled  with 
admiration.  Thank  Heaven,  I  am  a  man  of 
the  world.  Whenever  I  meet  heiresses  I  al- 
ways have  the  deepest  admiration."  As  he 
said  this  he  wore  a  brave  hang-dog  expression. 
The  girl  surveyed  him  coldly  from  his  chin  to 
his  eyebrows.  "  You  have  a  handsome  audac- 
ity, too." 

He  lay  back  in  the  long  grass  and  contem- 
plated the  clouds. 

"  You  should  have  been  a  Chinese  soldier 
of  fortune,"  she  said. 


34  THE   THIRD  VIOLET. 

He  threw  another  little  clod  at  Stanley 
and  struck  him  on  the  head. 

"  You  are  the  most  scientifically  unbear- 
able person  in  the  world/'  she  said. 

Stanley  came  back  to  see  his  master  and  to 
assure  himself  that  the  clump  on  the  head  was 
not  intended  as  a  sign  of  serious  displeasure. 
Hawker  took  the  dog's  long  ears  and  tried  to 
tie  them  into  a  knot. 

"And  I  don't  see  why  you  so  delight  in 
making  people  detest  you,"  she  continued. 

Having  failed  to  make  a  knot  of  the  dog's 
ears,  Hawker  leaned  back  and  surveyed  his 
failure  admiringly.  "  Well,  I  don't,"  he 
said. 

"  You  do." 

"  No,  I  don't." 

"  Yes,  you  do.  You  just  say  the  most  ter- 
rible things  as  if  you  positively  enjoyed  saying 
them." 

"  Well,  what  did  I  say,  now  ?  What  did  I 
say  ?  " 

"  Why,  you  said  that  you  always  had  the 
most  extraordinary  admiration  for  heiresses 
whenever  you  met  them." 

"  Well,    what's    wrong    with     that    senti- 


THE   THIRD  VIOLET.  35 

ment  ? "  he  said.  "  You  can't  find  fault  with 
that !  " 

"  It  is  utterly  detestable." 

"  Not  at  all,"  he  answered  sullenly.  "  I 
consider  it  a  tribute — a  graceful  tribute." 

Miss  Fanhall  arose  and  went  forward  to 
the  edge  of  the  cliff.  She  became  absorbed  in 
the  falls.  Far  below  her  a  bough  of  a  hem- 
lock drooped  to  the  water,  and  each  swirling, 
mad  wave  caught  it  and  made  it  nod — nod — 
nod.  Her  back  was  half  turned  toward 
Hawker. 

After  a  time  Stanley,  the  dog,  discovered 
some  ants  scurrying  in  the  moss,  and  he  at 
once  began  to  watch  them  and  wag  his  tail. 

"  Isn't  it  curious,"  observed  Hawker,  "  how 
an  animal  as  large  as  a  dog  will  sometimes  be 
so  entertained  by  the  very  smallest  things  ?  " 

Stanley  pawed  gently  at  the  moss,  and 
then  thrust  his  head  forward  to  see  what  the 
ants  did  under  the  circumstances. 

"  In  the  hunting  season,"  continued  Haw- 
ker, having  waited  a  moment,  "  this  dog 
knows  nothing  on  earth  but  his  master  and 
the  partridges.  He  is  lost  to  all  other  sound 
and  movement.  He  moves  through  the 


36  THE   THIRD  VIOLET. 

woods  like  a  steel  machine.  And  when  he 
scents  the  bird — ah,  it  is  beautiful!  Shouldn't 
you  like  to  see  him  then  ?  " 

Some  of  the  ants  had  perhaps  made  war- 
like motions,  and  Stanley  was  pretending  that 
this  was  a  reason  for  excitement.  He  reared 
aback,  and  made  grumbling  noises  in  his 
throat. 

After  another  pause  Hawker  went  on: 
"  And  now  see  the  precious  old  fool !  He  is 
deeply  interested  in  the  movements  of  the  lit- 
tle ants,  and  as  childish  and  ridiculous  over 
them  as  if  they  were  highly  important. — 
There,  you  old  blockhead,  let  them  alone ! " 

Stanley  could  not  be  induced  to  end  his 
investigations,  and  he  told  his  master  that  the 
ants  were  the  most  thrilling  and  dramatic 
animals  of  his  experience. 

"  Oh,  by  the  way,"  said  Hawker  at  last,  as 
his  glance  caught  upon  the  crags  across  the 
river,  "  did  you  ever  hear  the  legend  of  those 
rocks  yonder?  Over  there  where  I  am  point- 
ing? Where  I'm  pointing?  Did  you  ever 
hear  it?  What?  Yes?  No?  Well,  I  shall 
tell  it  to  you."  He  settled  comfortably  in  the 
long  grass. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

"  ONCE  upon  a  time  there  was  a  beautiful 
Indian  maiden,  of  course.  And  she  was,  of 
course,  beloved  by  a  youth  from  another  tribe 
who  was  very  handsome  and  stalwart  and  a 
mighty  hunter,  of  course.  But  the  maiden's 
father  was,  of  course,  a  stern  old  chief,  and 
when  the  question  of  his  daughter's  marriage 
came  up,  he,  of  course,  declared  that  the 
maiden  should  be  wedded  only  to  a  warrior  of 
her  tribe.  And,  of  course,  when  the  young 
man  heard  this  he  said  that  in  such  case  he 
would,  of  course,  fling  himself  headlong  from 
that  crag.  The  old  chief  was,  of  course,  ob- 
durate, and,  of  course,  the  youth  did,  of 
course,  as  he  had  said.  And,  of  course,  the 
maiden  wept."  After  Hawker  had  waited  for 
some  time,  he  said  with  severity,  "  You  seem 
to  have  no  great  appreciation  of  folklore." 

The  girl  suddenly  bent  her  head.     "  Lis- 

37 


38  THE   THIRD  VIOLET. 

ten,"  she  said,  "  they're  calling.  Don't  you 
hear  Hollie's  voice  ?  " 

They  went  to  another  place,  and,  looking 
down  over  the  shimmering  tree-tops,  they  saw 
Hollanden  waving  his  arms.  "  It's  lunch- 
eon," said  Hawker.  "  Look  how  frantic  he 
is!" 

The  path  required  that  Hawker  should  as- 
sist the  girl  very  often.  His  eyes  shone  at 
her  whenever  he  held  forth  his  hand  to  help 
her  down  a  blessed  steep  place.  She  seemed 
rather  pensive.  The  route  to  luncheon  was 
very  long.  Suddenly  he  took  a  seat  on  an  old 
tree,  and  said :  "  Oh,  I  don't  know  why  it  is, 
whenever  I'm  with  you,  I — I  have  no  wits,  nor 
good  nature,  nor  anything.  It's  the  worst 
luck!" 

He  had  left  her  standing  on  a  boulder, 
where  she  was  provisionally  helpless.  "  Hur- 
ry !  "  she  said  ;  "  they're  waiting  for  us." 

Stanley,  the  setter,  had  been  sliding  down 
cautiously  behind  them.  He  now  stood  wag- 
ging his  tail  and  waiting  for  the  way  to  be 
cleared. 

Hawker  leaned  his  head  on  his  hand  and 
pondered  dejectedly.  "  It's  the  worst  luck  !  " 


THE   THIRD  VIOLET.  39 

"Hurry!"  she  said;  "they're  waiting  for 
us." 

At  luncheon  the  girl  was  for  the  most  part 
silent.  Hawker  was  superhumanly  amiable. 
Somehow  he  gained  the  impression  that  they 
all  quite  fancied  him,  and  it  followed  that 
being  clever  was  very  easy.  Hollanden  lis- 
tened, and  approved  him  with  a  benign  coun- 
tenance. 

There  was  a  little  boat  fastened  to  the  wil- 
lows at  the  edge  of  the  black  pool.  After  the 
spread,  Hollanden  navigated  various  parties 
around  to  where  they  could  hear  the  great 
hollow  roar  of  the  falls  beating  against  the 
sheer  rocks.  Stanley  swam  after  sticks  at  the 
request  of  little  Roger. 

Once  Hollanden  succeeded  in  making  the 
others  so  engrossed  in  being  amused  that 
Hawker  and  Miss  Fanhall  were  left  alone 
staring  at  the  white  bubbles  that  floated 
solemnly  on  the  black  water.  After  Hawker 
had  stared  at  them  a  sufficient  time,  he  said, 
"  Well,  you  are  an  heiress,  you  know." 

In  return  she  chose  to  smile  radiantly. 
Turning  toward  him,  she  said,  "  If  you  will  be 
good  now — always — perhaps  I'll  forgive  you." 


40  THE  THIRD  VIOLET. 

They  drove  home  in  the  sombre  shadows 
of  the  hills,  with  Stanley  padding  along  under 
the  wagon.  The  Worcester  girls  tried  to  in- 
duce Hollanden  to  sing,  and  in  consequence 
there  was  quarrelling  until  the  blinking  lights 
of  the  inn  appeared  above  them  as  if  a  great 
lantern  hung  there. 

Hollanden  conveyed  his  friend  some  dis- 
tance on  the  way  home  from  the  inn  to  the 
farm.  "Good  time  at  the  picnic? "said  the 
writer. 

"  Yes." 

"  Picnics  are  mainly  places  where  the  jam 
gets  on  the  dead  leaves,  and  from  thence  to 
your  trousers.  But  this  was  a  good  little 
picnic."  He  glanced  at  Hawker.  "  But  you 
don't  look  as  if  you  had  such  a  swell  time." 

Hawker  waved  his  hand  tragically.  "  Yes 
• — no — I  don't  know." 

"  What's  wrong  with  you  ? "  asked  Hol- 
landen. 

"  I  tell  you  what  it  is,  Hollie,"  said  the 
painter  darkly,  "  whenever  I'm  with  that 
girl  I'm  such  a  blockhead.  I'm  not  so  stupid, 
Hollie.  You  know  I'm  not.  But  when  I'm 
with  her  I  can't  be  clever  to  save  my  life." 


THE  THIRD  VIOLET.  4! 

Hollander!  pulled  contentedly  at  his  pipe. 
"  Maybe  she  don't  notice  it." 

" Notice  it!  "  muttered  Hawker,  scornfully  ; 
"  of  course  she  notices  it.  In  conversation 
with  her,  I  tell  you,  I  am  as  interesting  as  an 
iron  dog-."  His  voice  changed  as  he  cried,  "  I 
don't  know  why  it  is.  I  don't  know  why  it  is." 

Blowing  a  huge  cloud  of  smoke  into  the 
air,  Hollanden  studied  it  thoughtfully.  "  Hits 
some  fellows  that  way,"  he  said.  "And,  of 
course,  it  must  be  deuced  annoying.  Strange 
thing,  but  now,  under  those  circumstances, 
I'm  very  glib.  Very  glib,  I  assure  you." 

"  I  don't  care  what  you  are,"  answered 
Hawker.  "  All  those  confounded  affairs  of 
yours — they  were  not " 

"  No,"  said  Hollanden,  stolidly  puffing,  "  of 
course  not.  I  understand  that.  But,  look 
here,  Billie,"  he  added,  with  sudden  bright- 
ness, "  maybe  you  are  not  a  blockhead,  after 
all.  You  are  on  the  inside,  you  know,  and 
you  can't  see  from  there.  Besides,  you  can't 
tell  what  a  woman  will  think.  You  can't  tell 
what  a  woman  will  think." 

"  No,"  said  Hawker,  grimly,  "  and  you 
suppose  that  is  my  only  chance  ?  " 


42  THE   THIRD  VIOLET. 

"  Oh,  don't  be  such  a  chump  !  "  said  Hol- 
landen,  in  a  tone  of  vast  exasperation. 

They  strode  for  some  time  in  silence.  The 
mystic  pines  swaying  over  the  narrow  road 
made  talk  sibilantly  to  the  wind.  Stanley, 
the  setter,  took  it  upon  himself  to  discover 
some  menacing  presence  in  the  woods.  He 
walked  on  his  toes  and  with  his  eyes  glinting 
sideways.  He  swore  half  under  his  breath. 

"And  work,  too,"  burst  out  Hawker,  at 
last.  "  T  came  up  here  this  season  to  work, 
and  I  haven't  done  a  thing  that  ought  not  be 
shot  at." 

"  Don't  you  find  that  your  love  sets  fire  to 
your  genius  ?  "  asked  Hollanden  gravely. 

"  No,  I'm  hanged  if  I  do." 

Hollanden  sighed  then  with  an  air  of  re- 
lief. "  I  was  afraid  that  a  popular  impression 
was  true,"  he  said,  "  but  it's  all  right.  You 
would  rather  sit  still  and  moon,  wouldn't 
you?" 

"  Moon — blast  you  !  I  couldn't  moon  to 
save  my  life." 

"  Oh,  well,  I  didn't  mean  moon  exactly." 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

THE  blue  night  of  the  lake  was  embroid- 
ered with  black  tree  forms.  Silver  drops 
sprinkled  from  the  lifted  oars.  Somewhere  in 
the  gloom  of  the  shore  there  was  a  dog,  who 
from  time  to  time  raised  his  sad  voice  to  the 
stars. 

"  But  still,  the  life  of  the  studios "  be- 
gan the  girl. 

Hawker  scoffed.  "  There  were  six  of  us. 
Mainly  we  smoked.  Sometimes  we  played 
hearts  and  at  other  times  poker — on  credit, 
you  know — credit.  And  when  we  had  the 
materials  and  got  something  to  do,  we 
worked.  Did  you  ever  see  these  beautiful 
red  and  green  designs  that  surround  the  com- 
mon tomato  can?" 

"Yes." 

"Well,"  he  said  proudly,  "I  have  made 
them.  Whenever  you  come  upon  tomatoes, 
remember  that  they  might  once  have  been 

43 


44  THE  THIRD  VIOLET. 

encompassed  in  my  design.  When  first  I 
came  back  from  Paris  I  began  to  paint,  but 
nobody  wanted  me  to  paint.  Later,  I  got  into 
green  corn  and  asparagus " 

"Truly?" 

"  Yes,  indeed.     It  is  true." 

"  But  still,  the  life  of  the  studios " 

"  There  were  six  of  us.  Fate  ordained 
that  only  one  in  the  crowd  could  have  money 
at  one  time.  The  other  five  lived  off  him  and 
despised  themselves.  We  despised  ourselves 
five  times  as  long  as  we  had  admiration." 

"And  was  this  just  because  you  had  no 
money  ?  " 

"  It  was  because  we  had  no  money  in  New 
York,"  said  Hawker. 

"  Well,  after  a  while  something  hap- 
pened  " 

"  Oh,  no,  it  didn't.  Something  impended 
always,  but  it  never  happened." 

"  In  a  case  like  that  one's  own  people  must 
be  such  a  blessing.  The  sympathy " 

"  One's  own  people !  "  said  Hawker. 

"Yes,"  she  said,  "one's  own  people  and 
more  intimate  friends.  The  apprecia- 
tion  " 


THE   THIRD  VIOLET.  45 

"  '  The  appreciation  ! ' '  said  Hawker. 
"  Yes,  indeed  !  " 

He  seemed  so  ill-tempered  that  she  be- 
came silent.  The  boat  floated  through  the 
shadows  of  the  trees  and  out  to  where  the 
water  was  like  a  blue  crystal.  The  dog  on 
the  shore  thrashed  about  in  the  reeds  and 
waded  in  the  shallows,  mourning  his  unhappy 
state  in  an  occasional  cry.  Hawker  stood  up 
and  sternly  shouted.  Thereafter  silence  was 
among  the  reeds.  The  moon  slipped  sharply 
through  the  little  clouds. 

The  girl  said,  "  I  liked  that  last  picture  of 
yours." 

-What?" 

"  At  the  last  exhibition,  you  know,  you 
had  that  one  with  the  cows — and  things — in 
the  snow — and — and  a  haystack." 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  "  of  course.  Did  you  like 
it,  really  ?  I  thought  it  about  my  best.  And 
you  really  remembered  it  ?  Oh,"  he  cried, 
"  Hollanden  perhaps  recalled  it  to  you." 

"  Why,  no,"  she  said.  "  I  remembered  it, 
of  course." 

"  Well,  what  made  you  remember  it  ?  "  he 
demanded,  as  if  he  had  cause  to  be  indignant. 


46  THE   THIRD  VIOLET. 

"  Why — I  just  remembered  it  because — I 
liked  it,  and  because — well,  the  people  with 
me  said — said  it  was  about  the  best  thing  in 
the  exhibit,  and  they  talked  about  it  a  good 
deal.  And  then  I  remember  that  Hollie  had 
spoken  of  you,  and  then  I — I " 

"  Never  mind,"  he  said.  After  a  moment, 
he  added,  "  The  confounded  picture  was  no 
good,  anyhow  !  " 

The  girl  started.  "  What  makes  you 
speak  so  of  it?  It  was  good.  Of  course,  I 
don't  know — I  can't  talk  about  pictures,  but," 
she  said  in  distress,  "  everybody  said  it  was 
fine." 

"  It  wasn't  any  good,"  he  persisted,  with 
dogged  shakes  of  the  head. 

From  off  in  the  darkness  they  heard  the 
sound  of  Hollanders  oars  splashing  in  the 
water.  Sometimes  there  was  squealing  by 
the  Worcester  girls,  and  at  other  times  loud 
arguments  on  points  of  navigation. 

"  Oh,"  said  the  girl  suddenly,  "  Mr.  Ogle- 
thorpe  is  coming  to-morrow  !  " 

"Mr.  Oglethorpe?"  said  Hawker.  "  Is 
he?" 

"Yes."      She    gazed    off    at    the    water. 


THE   THIRD   VIOLET. 


47 


"  He's  an  old  friend  of  ours.  He  is  always 
so  good,  and  Roger  and  little  Helen  simply 
adore  him.  He  was  my  brother's  chum  in 
college,  and  they  were  quite  inseparable  until 
Herbert's  death.  He  always  brings  me  vio- 
lets. But  I  know  you  will  like  him." 

"  I  shall  expect  to,"  said  Hawker. 

"  I'm  so  glad  he  is  coming.  What  time 
does  that  morning  stage  get  here  ?  " 

"About  eleven,"  said  Hawker. 

"  He  wrote  that  he  would  come  then.  I 
hope  he  won't  disappoint  us." 

"  Undoubtedly  he  will  be  here,"  said 
Hawker. 

The  wind  swept  from  the  ridge  top,  where 
some  great  bare  pines  stood  in  the  moonlight. 
A  loon  called  in  its  strange,  unearthly  note 
from  the  lakeshore.  As  Hawker  turned  the 
boat  toward  the  dock,  the  flashing  rays  from 
the  boat  fell  upon  the  head  of  the  girl  in  the 
rear  seat,  and  he  rowed  very  slowly. 

The  girl  was  looking  away  somewhere 
with  a  mystic,  shining  glance.  She  leaned 
her  chin  in  her  hand.  Hawker,  facing  her, 
merely  paddled  subconsciously.  He  seemed 
greatly  impressed  and  expectant. 


48  THE   THIRD  VIOLET. 

At  last  she  spoke  very  slowly.  "  I  wish  I 
knew  Mr.  Oglethorpe  was  not  going-  to  dis- 
appoint us." 

Hawker  said,  "  Why,  no,  I  imagine  not." 
"  Well,  he  is  a  trifle  uncertain  in  matters  of 
time.     The  children — and  all  of  us — shall  be 
anxious.     I  know  you  will  like  him." 


CHAPTER   IX. 

"  EH  ?  "  said  Hollanden.  "  Oglethorpe  ? 
Oglethorpe?  Why,  he's  that  friend  of  the 
Fanhalls !  Yes,  of  course,  I  know  him ! 
Deuced  good  fellow,  too  !  What  about  him  ?  " 
"  Oh,  nothing,  only  he's  coming  here  to- 
morrow," answered  Hawker.  "  What  kind 
of  a  fellow  did  you  say  he  was  ?  " 

"  Deuced    good    fellow !     What    are    you 

so Say,  by  the  nine  mad  blacksmiths  of 

Donawhiroo,  he's  your  rival !    Why,  of  course ! 
Glory,  but  I  must  be  thick-headed  to-night ! " 
Hawker  said,  "Where's  your  tobacco?" 
"  Yonder,  in  that  jar.     Got  a  pipe  ?  " 
"  Yes.     How  do  you  know  he's  my  rival  ?" 

"  Know  it  ?    Why,  hasn't  he  been Say, 

this  is  getting  thrilling!"  Hollanden  sprang 
to  his  feet  and,  filling  a  pipe,  flung  himself 
into  the  chair  and  began  to  rock  himself 
madly  to  and  fro.  He  puffed  clouds  of 

smoke. 

49 


50  THE   THIRD  VIOLET. 

Hawker  stood  with  his  face  in  shadow. 
At  last  he  said,  in  tones  of  deep  weariness, 
"  Well,  I  think  I'd  better  be  going  home  and 
turning  in." 

"  Hold  on  !  "  Hollanden  exclaimed,  turn- 
ing his  eyes  from  a  prolonged  stare  at  the 
ceiling,  "  don't  go  yet !  Why,  man,  this  is 

just  the  time  when Say,  who  would  ever 

think  of  Jem  Oglethorpe's  turning  up  to  har- 
rie  you  !  Just  at  this  time,  too  ! " 

"  Oh,"  cried  Hawker  suddenly,  filled  with 
rage,  "you  remind  me  of  an  accursed  duffer! 
Why  can't  you  tell  me  something  about  the 
man,  instead  of  sitting  there  and  gibbering 
those  crazy  things  at  the  ceiling?" 

"By  the  piper " 

"  Oh,  shut  up  !  Tell  me  something  about 
Oglethorpe,  can't  you  ?  I  want  to  hear  about 
him.  Quit  all  that  other  business !  " 

"  Why,  Jem  Oglethorpe,  he — why,  say, 
he's  one  of  the  best  fellows  going.  If  he 
were  only  an  ass!  If  he  were  only  an  ass, 
now,  you  could  feel  easy  in  your  mind.  But 
he  isn't.  No,  indeed.  Why,  blast  him,  there 
isn't  a  man  that  knows  him  who  doesn't  like 
Jem  Oglethorpe  !  Excepting  the  chumps !  " 


THE   THIRD  VIOLET.  $r 

The  window  of  the  little  room  was  open, 
and  the  voices  of  the  pines  could  be  heard  as 
they  sang  of  their  long-  sorrow.  Hawker 
pulled  a  chair  close  and  stared  out  into  the 
darkness.  The  people  on  the  porch  of  the  inn 
were  frequently  calling,  "  Good-night !  Good- 
night ! " 

Hawker  said,  "  And  of  course  he's  got 
train  loads  of  money?" 

"You  bet  he  has!  He  can  pave  streets 
with  it.  Lordie,  but  this  is  a  situation !  " 

A  heavy  scowl  settled  upon  Hawker's 
brow,  and  he  kicked  at  the  dressing  case. 
"  Say,  Hollie,  look  here  !  Sometimes  I  think 
you  regard  me  as  a  bug  and  like  to  see  me 
wriggle.  But " 

"Oh,  don't  be  a  fool!"  said  Hollanden, 
glaring  through  the  smoke.  "  Under  the  cir- 
cumstances, you  are  privileged  to  rave  and 
ramp  around  like  a  wounded  lunatic,  but  for 
heaven's  sake  don't  swoop  down  on  me  like 
that !  Especially  when  I'm — when  I'm  doing 
all  I  can  for  you." 

"  Doing  all  you  can  for  me !  Nobody 
asked  you  to.  You  talk  as  if  I  were  an  in- 
fant." 


52  THE   THIRD    VIOLET. 

"There!  That's  right!  Blaze  up  like  a 
fire  balloon  just  because  I  said  that,  will  you  ? 
A  man  in  your  condition — why,  confound 
you,  you  are  an  infant ! " 

Hawker  seemed  again  overwhelmed  in  a 
great  dislike  of  himself.  "  Oh,  well,  of  course, 

Hollie,  it "  He  waved  his  hand.  "  A  man 

feels  like— like " 

"  Certainly  he  does,"  said  Hollanden. 
"  That's  all  right,  old  man." 

"  And  look  now,  Hollie,  here's  this  Ogle- 
thorpe " 

"  May  the  devil  fly  away  with  him  !  " 

"Well,  here  he  is,  coming  along  when  I 
thought  maybe — after  a  while,  you  know — I 
might  stand  some  show.  And  you  are  ac- 
quainted with  him,  so  give  me  a  line  on  him." 

"  Well,  I  should  advise  you  to " 

"  Blow  your  advice  !  I  want  to  hear  about 
Oglethorpe." 

"  Well,  in  the  first  place,  he  is  a  rattling 
good  fellow,  as  I  told  you  before,  and  this  is 
what  makes  it  so " 

"  Oh,  hang  what  it  makes  it !     Go  on." 

"  He  is  a  rattling  good  fellow  and  he  has 
stacks  of  money.  Of  course,  in  this  case  his 


THE   THIRD   VIOLET. 


53 


having  money  doesn't  affect  the  situation 
much.  Miss  Fanhall " 

"  Say,  can  you  keep  to  the  thread  of  the 
story,  you  infernal  literary  man  !  " 

"  Well,  he's  popular.  He  don't  talk  money 
— ever.  And  if  he's  wicked,  he's  not  suffi- 
ciently proud  of  it  to  be  perpetually  describ- 
ing his  sins.  And  then  he  is  not  so  hideously 
brilliant,  either.  That's  great  credit  to  a  man 
in  these  days.  And  then  he — well,  take  it  al- 
together, I  should  say  Jem  Oglethorpe  was  a 
smashing  good  fellow." 

"  I  wonder  how  long  he  is  going  to  stay  ?  " 
murmured  Hawker. 

During  this  conversation  his  pipe  had 
often  died  out.  It  was  out  at  this  time.  He 
lit  another  match.  Hollanden  had  watched 
the  fingers  of  his  friend  as  the  match  was 
scratched.  "  You're  nervous,  Billie,"  he  said. 

Hawker  straightened  in  his  chair.  "  No, 
I'm  not." 

"  I  saw  your  fingers  tremble  when  you  lit 
that  match." 

"  Oh,  you  lie  !  " 

Hollanden  mused  again.  "  He's  popular 
with  women,  too,"  he  said  ultimately;  "and 


54  THE   THIRD  VIOLET. 

often  a  woman  will  like  a  man  and  hunt  his 
scalp  just  because  she  knows  other  women 
like  him  and  want  his  scalp." 

"  Yes,  but  not " 

"  Hold  on !  You  were  going  to  say  that 
she  was  not  like  other  women,  weren't  you  ?  " 

"  Not  exactly  that,  but " 

"  Well,  we  will  have  all  that  understood." 

After  a  period  of  silence  Hawker  said,  "  I 
must  be  going." 

As  the  painter  walked  toward  the  door 
Hollanden  cried  to  him :  "  Heavens !  Of  all 
pictures  of  a  weary  pilgrim ! "  His  voice  was 
very  compassionate. 

Hawker  wheeled,  and  an  oath  spun  through 
the  smoke  clouds. 


CHAPTER   X. 

"WHERE'S  Mr.  Hawker  this  morning?" 
asked  the  younger  Miss  Worcester.  "  I 
thought  he  was  coming  up  to  play  tennis?" 

"  I  don't  know.  Confound  him !  I  don't 
see  why  he  didn't  come,"  said  Hollanden, 
looking  across  the  shining  valley.  He 
frowned  questioningly  at  the  landscape.  "  I 
wonder  where  in  the  mischief  he  is  ?  " 

The  Worcester  girls  began  also  to  stare  at 
the  great  gleaming  stretch  of  green  and  gold. 
"Didn't  he  tell  you  he  was  coming?"  they 
demanded. 

"  He  didn't  say  a  word  about  it,"  answered 
Hollanden.  "  I  supposed,  of  course,  he  was 
coming.  We  will  have  to  postpone  the  m$tte" 

Later  he  met  Miss  Fanhall.  "  You  look  as 
if  you  were  going  for  a  walk  ?  " 

"  I  am,"  she  said,  swinging  her  parasol. 
"To  meet  the  stage.  Have  you  seen  Mr. 
Hawker  to-day  ?  " 

55 


56  THE   THIRD  VIOLET. 

"  No,"  he  said.  "  He  is  not  coming-  up  this 
morning.  He  is  in  a  great  fret  about  that 
field  of  stubble,  and  I  suppose  he  is  down 
there  sketching  the  life  out  of  it.  These  art- 
ists— they  take  such  a  fiendish  interest  in  their 
work.  I  dare  say  we  won't  see  much  of  him 
until  he  has  finished  it.  Where  did  you  say 
you  were  going  to  walk  ?  " 

"  To  meet  the  stage." 

"  Oh,  well,  I  won't  have  to  play  tennis  for 
an  hour,  and  if  you  insist " 

"  Of  course." 

As  they  strolled  slowly  in  the  shade  of  the 
trees  Hollanden  began,  "  Isn't  that  Hawker  an 
ill-bred  old  thing  ?  " 

"No,  he  is  not."  Then  after  a  time  she 
said,  "  Why  ?  " 

"Oh,  he  gets  so  absorbed  in  a  beastly 
smudge  of  paint  that  I  really  suppose  he  cares 
nothing  for  anything  else  in  the  world.  Men 
who  are  really  artists — I  don't  believe  they 
are  capable  of  deep  human  affections.  So 
much  of  them  is  occupied  by  art.  There's 
not  much  left  over,  you  see." 

"  I  don't  believe  it  at  all,"  she  exclaimed. 

"  You  don't,  eh  ?  "  cried  Hollanden  scorn- 


THE   THIRD   VIOLET. 


57 


fully.  "  Well,  let  me  tell  you,  young  woman, 
there  is  a  great  deal  of  truth  in  it.  Now, 
there's  Hawker — as  good  a  fellow  as  ever 
lived,  too,  in  a  way,  and  yet  he's  an  artist. 
Why,  look  how  he  treats — look  how  he  treats 
that  poor  setter  dog !  " 

"  Why,  he's  as  kind  to  him  as  he  can  be," 
she  declared. 

"  And  I  tell  you  he  is  not !  "  cried  Hollan- 
den. 

"  He  is,  Hollie.  You — you  are  unspeak- 
able when  you  get  in  these  moods." 

"  There — that's  just  you  in  an  argument. 
I'm  not  in  a  mood  at  all.  Now,  look — the 
dog  loves  him  with  simple,  unquestioning 
devotion  that  fairly  brings  tears  to  one's 
eyes " 

"  Yes,"  she  said. 

"  And  he — why,  he's  as  cold  and  stern " 

"  He  isn't.  He  isn't,  Holly.  You  are  aw- 
f'ly  unfair." 

"  No,  I'm  not.  I  am  simply  a  liberal  ob- 
server. And  Hawker,  with  his  people,  too," 
he  went  on  darkly ;  "  you  can't  tell — you 
don't  know  anything  about  it — but  I  tell  you 
that  what  I  have  seen  proves  my  assertion 


58  THE   THIRD  VIOLET. 

that  the  artistic  mind  has  no  space  left  for  the 
human  affections.  And  as  for  the  dog " 

"  I  thought  you  were  his  friend,  Hollie  ?  " 

"  Whose  ? " 

"  No,  not  the  dog's.  And  yet  you — really, 
Hollie,  there  is  something  unnatural  in  you. 
You  are  so  stupidly  keen  in  looking  at  people 
that  you  do  not  possess  common  loyalty  to 
your  friends.  It  is  because  you  are  a  writer, 
I  suppose.  That  has  to  explain  so  many 
things.  Some  of  your  traits  are  very  disa- 
greeable." 

"  There !  there  !  "  plaintively  cried  Hol- 
landen.  "  This  is  only  about  the  treatment  of 
a  dog,  mind  you.  Goodness,  what  an  ora- 
tion ! " 

"  It  wasn't  about  the  treatment  of  a  dog. 
It  was  about  your  treatment  of  your  friends." 

"  Well,"  he  said  sagely,  "  it  only  goes  to 
show  that  there  is  nothing  impersonal  in  the 
mind  of  a  woman.  I  undertook  to  discuss 
broadly 

"  Oh,  Hollie !  " 

"  At  any  rate,  it  was  rather  below  you  to 
do  such  scoffing  at  me." 

"  Well,  I  didn't  mean— not  all  of  it,  Hollie." 


THE   THIRD  VIOLET.  59 

"  Well,  I  didn't  mean  what  I  said  about 
the  dog  and  all  that,  either." 

"You  didn't?"  She  turned  toward  him, 
large-eyed. 

"  No.     Not  a  single  word  of  it." 

"  Well,  what  did  you  say  it  for,  then  ?  "  she 
demanded  indignantly. 

"  I  said  it,"  answered  Hollanden  placidly, 
"  just  to  tease  you."  He  looked  abstractedly 
up  to  the  trees. 

Presently  she  said  slowly,  "Just  to  tease 
me?" 

At  this  time  Hollanden  wore  an  unmistak- 
able air  of  having  a  desire  to  turn  up  his  coat 
collar.  "  Oh,  come  now "  he  began  nerv- 
ously. 

"  George  Hollanden,"  said  the  voice  at  his 
shoulder,  "  you  are  not  only  disagreeable,  but 
you  are  hopelessly  ridiculous.  I — I  wish  you 
would  never  speak  to  me  again  ! " 

"  Oh,  come  now,  Grace,  don't — don't 

Look !  There's  the  stage  coming,  isn't  it  ?  ' ' 

"  No,  the  stage  is  not  coming.  I  wish — I 
wish  you  were  at  the  bottom  of  the  sea, 
George  Hollanden.  And — and  Mr.  Hawker, 
too.  There ! " 


60  THE   THIRD  VIOLET. 

"  Oh,  bless  my  soul !  And  all  about  an 
infernal  dog,"  wailed  Hollanden.  "  Look ! 
Honest,  now,  there's  the  stage.  See  it?  See 
it?" 

"  It  isn't  there  at  all,"  she  said. 

Gradually  he  seemed  to  recover  his  cour- 
age. "  What  made  you  so  tremendously  an- 
gry ?  I  don't  see  why." 

After  consideration,  she  said  decisively, 
"Well,  because." 

"  That's  why  I  teased  you,"  he  rejoined. 

"  Well,  because — because " 

"  Go  on,"  he  told  her  finally.  "  You  are 
doing  very  well."  He  waited  patiently. 

"Well,"  she  said,  "it  is  dreadful  to  defend 
somebody  so — so  excitedly,  and  then  have  it 
turned  out  just  a  tease.  I  don't  know  what 
he  would  think." 

"  Who  would  think  ?  " 

"  Why— he." 

"  What  could  he  think?  Now,  what  could 
he  think?  Why,"  said  Hollanden,  waxing 
eloquent,  "  he  couldn't  under  any  circum- 
stances think — think  anything  at  all.  Now, 
could  he?" 

She  made  no  reply. 


THE   THIRD  VIOLET.  6l 

"Could  he?" 

She  was  apparently  reflecting. 

"  Under  any  circumstances,"  persisted 
Hollanden,  "  he  couldn't  think  anything  at 
all.  Now,  could  he  ?  " 

"  No,"  she  said. 

"  Well,  why  are  you  angry  at  me,  then  ?  " 


CHAPTER  XI. 

"  JOHN,"  said  the  old  mother,  from  the  pro- 
found mufflings  of  the  pillow  and  quilts. 

"  What?"  said  the  old  man.  He  was  tug- 
ging at  his  right  boot,  and  his  tone  was  very 
irascible. 

"  I  think  William's  changed  a  good  deal." 

"  Well,  what  if  he  has?"  replied  the  father, 
in  another  burst  of  ill-temper.  He  was  then 
tugging  at  his  left  boot. 

"Yes,  I'm  afraid  he's  changed  a  good 
deal,"  said  the  muffled  voice  from  the  bed. 
"  He's  got  a  good  many  fine  friends,  now, 
John — folks  what  put  on  a  good  many  airs; 
and  he  don't  care  for  his  home  like  he  did." 

"  Oh,  well,  I  don't  guess  he's  changed  very 
much,"  said  the  old  man  cheerfully.  He  was 
now  free  of  both  boots. 

She  raised  herself  on  an  elbow  and  looked 
out  with  a  troubled  face.  "  John,  I  think  he 

likes  that  girl." 

62 


THE   THIRD  VIOLET.  63 

"  What  girl  ?  "  said  he. 

"  What  girl  ?  Why,  that  awful  handsome 
girl  you  see  around — of  course." 

"  Do  you  think  he  likes  'er  ?  " 

"  I'm  afraid  so — I'm  afraid  so,"  murmured 
the  mother  mournfully. 

"  Oh,  well,"  said  the  old  man,  without 
alarm,  or  grief,  or  pleasure  in  his  tone. 

He  turned  the  lamp's  wick  very  low  and 
carried  the  lamp  to  the  head  of  the  stairs, 
where  he  perched  it  on  the  step.  When  he 
returned  he  said,  "  She's  mighty  good-look- 
in' !" 

"  Well,  that  ain't  everything,"  she  snapped. 
"  How  do  we  know  she  ain't  proud,  and  self- 
ish, and — everything?" 

"  How  do  you  know  she  is?  "  returned  the 
old  man. 

"  And  she  may  just  be  leading  him  on." 

"  Do  him  good,  then,"  said  he,  with  im- 
pregnable serenity.  "  Next  time  he'll  know 
better." 

"  Well,  I'm  worried  about  it,"  she  said,  as 
she  sank  back  on  the  pillow  again.  "  I  think 
William's  changed  a  good  deal.  He  don't 
seem  to  care  about — us — like  he  did." 


64  THE    THIRD  VIOLET. 

"Oh,  go  to  sleep!"  said  the  father  drowsily. 

She  was  silent  for  a  time,  and  then  she 
said,  "  John  ?  " 

"What?" 

"  Do  you  think  I  better  speak  to  him  about 
that  girl?" 

"  No." 

She  grew  silent  again,  but  at  last  she  de- 
manded, "Why  not?" 

"  'Cause  it's  none  of  your  business.  Go  to 
sleep,  will  you  ?  "  And  presently  he  did,  but 
the  old  mother  lay  blinking  wild-eyed  into  the 
darkness. 

In  the  morning  Hawker  did  not  appear  at 
the  early  breakfast,  eaten  when  the  blue  glow 
of  dawn  shed  its  ghostly  lights  upon  the  val- 
ley. The  old  mother  placed  various  dishes  on 
the  back  part  of  the  stove.  At  ten  o'clock  he 
came  downstairs.  His  mother  was  sweeping 
busily  in  the  parlour  at  the  time,  but  she  saw 
him  and  ran  to  the  back  part  of  the  stove. 
She  slid  the  various  dishes  on  to  the  table. 
"  Did  you  oversleep  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Yes.  I  don't  feel  very  well  this  morn- 
ing," he  said.  He  pulled  his  chair  close  to 
the  table  and  sat  there  staring. 


THE   THIRD  VIOLET.  65 

She  renewed  her  sweeping-  in  the  parlour. 
When  she  returned  he  sat  still  staring  undevi- 
atingly  at  nothing. 

"  Why  don't  you  eat  your  breakfast  ?  "  she 
said  anxiously. 

"  I  tell  you,  mother,  I  don't  feel  very  well 
this  morning,"  he  answered  quite  sharply. 

"Well,"  she  said  meekly,  "drink  some 
coffee  and  you'll  feel  better." 

Afterward  he  took  his  painting  machinery 
and  left  the  house.  His  younger  sister  was 
at  the  well.  She  looked  at  him  with  a  little 
smile  and  a  little  sneer.  "  Going  up  to  the 
inn  this  morning?"  she  said. 

"  I  don't  see  how  that  concerns  you, 
Mary?"  he  rejoined,  with  dignity. 

"  Oh,  my ! "  she  said  airily. 

"  But  since  you  are  so  interested,  I  don't 
mind  telling  you  that  I'm  not  going  up  to  the 
inn  this  morning." 

His  sister  fixed  him  with  her  eye.  "  She 
ain't  mad  at  you,  is  she,  Will  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  mean,  Mary." 
He  glared  hatefully  at  her  and  strode 
away. 

Stanley  saw  him  going  through  the  fields 


66  THE   THIRD   VIOLET. 

and  leaped  a  fence  jubilantly  in  pursuit.  In  a 
wood  the  light  sifted  through  the  foliage  and 
burned  with  a  peculiar  reddish  lustre  on  the 
masses  of  dead  leaves.  He  frowned  at  it  for 
a  while  from  different  points.  Presently  he 
erected  his  easel  and  began  to  paint.  After  a 
a  time  he  threw  down  his  brush  and  swore. 
Stanley,  who  had  been  solemnly  staring  at  the 
scene  as  if  he  too  was  sketching  it,  looked  up 
in  surprise. 

In  wandering  aimlessly  through  the  fields 
and  the  forest  Hawker  once  found  himself 
near  the  road  to  Hemlock  Inn.  He  shied 
away  from  it  quickly  as  if  it  were  a  great 
snake. 

While  most  of  the  family  were  at  supper, 
Mary,  the  younger  sister,  came  charging 
breathlessly  into  the  kitchen.  "  Ma — sister," 
she  cried,  "  I  know  why — why  Will  didn't  go 
to  the  inn  to-day.  There's  another  fellow 
come.  Another  fellow." 

"Who?  Where?  What  do  you  mean?" 
exclaimed  her  mother  and  her  sister. 

"  Why,  another  fellow  up  at  the  inn," 
she  shouted,  triumphant  in  her  information. 
"  Another  fellow  come  up  on  the  stage  this 


THE   THIRD   VIOLET.  6/ 

morning.  And  she  went  out  driving  with 
him  this  afternoon." 

"  Well,"  exclaimed  her  mother  and  her 
sister. 

"  Yep.  And  he's  an  awful  good-looking 
fellow,  too.  And  she — oh,  my — she  looked  as 
if  she  thought  the  world  and  all  of  him." 

"  Well,"  exclaimed  her  mother  and  her  sis- 
ter again. 

"  Sho !  "  said  the  old  man.  "  You  wimen 
leave  William  alone  and  quit  your  gabbling." 

The  three  women  made  a  combined  assault 
upon  him.  "  Well,  we  ain't  a-hurting  him,  are 
we,  pa  ?  You  needn't  be  so  snifty.  I  guess 
we  ain't  a-hurting  him  much." 

"Well,"  said  the  old  man.  And  to  this 
argument  he  added,  "  Sho ! " 

They  kept  him  out  of  the  subsequent  con- 
sultations. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

THE  next  day,  as  little  Roger  was  going 
toward  the  tennis  court,  a  large  orange  and 
white  setter  ran  effusively  from  around  the 
corner  of  the  inn  and  greeted  him.  Miss  Fan- 
hall,  the  Worcester  girls,  Hollanden,  and 
Oglethorpe  faced  to  the  front  like  soldiers. 
Hollanden  cried,  "  Why,  Billie  Hawker  must 
be  coming !  "  Hawker  at  that  moment  ap- 
peared, coming  toward  them  with  a  smile 
which  was  not  overconfident. 

Little  Roger  went  off  to  perform  some 
festivities  of  his  own  on  the  brown  carpet 
under  a  clump  of  pines.  The  dog,  to  join 
him,  felt  obliged  to  circle  widely  about  the 
tennis  court.  He  was  much  afraid  of  this 
tennis  court,  with  its  tiny  round  things  that 
sometimes  hit  him.  When  near  it  he  usually 
slunk  along  at  a  little  sheep  trot  and  with  an 
eye  of  wariness  upon  it. 

At  her  first  opportunity  the  younger  Wor- 

68 


THE  THIRD  VIOLET.  69 

cester  girl  said,  "  You  didn't  come  up  yester- 
day, Mr.  Hawker." 

Hollander!  seemed  to  think  that  Miss  Fan- 
hall  turned  her  head  as  if  she  wished  to  hear 
the  explanation  of  the  painter's  absence,  so  he 
engaged  her  in  swift  and  fierce  conversation. 

"  No,"  said  Hawker.  "  I  was  resolved  to 
finish  a  sketch  of  a  stubble  field  which  I  began 
a  good  many  days  ago.  You  see,  I  was  going 
to  do  such  a  great  lot  of  work  this  summer, 
and  I've  done  hardly  a  thing.  I  really  ought 
to  compel  myself  to  do  some,  you  know." 

"  There,"  said  Hollanden,  with  a  victori- 
ous nod,  "  just  what  I  told  you !  " 

"  You  didn't  tell  us  anything  of  the  kind," 
retorted  the  Worcester  girls  with  one  voice. 

A  middle-aged  woman  came  upon  the 
porch  of  the  inn,  and  after  scanning  for  a 
moment  the  group  at  the  tennis  court  she 
hurriedly  withdrew.  Presently  she  appeared 
again,  accompanied  by  five  more  middle-aged 
women.  "  You  see,"  she  said  to  the  others, 
"  it  is  as  I  said.  He  has  come  back." 

The  five  surveyed  the  group  at  the  tennis 
court,  and  then  said  :  "  So  he  has.  I  knew 
he  would.  Well,  I  declare!  Did  you  ever?" 


70  THE   THIRD  VIOLET. 

Their  voices  were  pitched  at  low  keys  and 
they  moved  with  care,  but  their  smiles  were 
broad  and  full  of  a  strange  glee. 

"  I  wonder  how  he  feels,"  said  one  in  sub- 
tle ecstasy. 

Another  laughed.  "  You  know  how  you 
would  feel,  my  dear,  if  you  were  him  and  saw 
yourself  suddenly  cut  out  by  a  man  who  was 
so  hopelessly  superior  to  you.  Why,  Ogle- 
thorpe's  a  thousand  times  better  looking.  And 
then  think  of  his  wealth  and  social  position  !  " 

One  whispered  dramatically,  "  They  say 
he  never  came  up  here  at  all  yesterday." 

Another  replied  :  "  No  more  he  did. 
That's  what  we've  been  talking  about.  Stayed 
down  at  the  farm  all  day,  poor  fellow !  " 

"Do  you  really  think  she  cares  for  Ogle- 
thorpe  ?  " 

"  Care  for  him  ?  Why,  of  course  she 
does.  Why,  when  they  came  up  the  path 
yesterday  morning  I  never  saw  a  girl's  face 
so  bright.  I  asked  my  husband  how  much  of 
the  Chambers  Street  Bank  stock  Oglethorpe 
owned,  and  he  said  that  if  Oglethorpe  took 
his  money  out  there  wouldn't  be  enough  left 
to  buy  a  pie." 


THE   THIRD   VIOLET.  7! 

The  youngest  woman  in  the  corps  said  : 
"  Well,  I  don't  care.  I  think  it  is  too  bad.  I 
don't  see  anything  so  much  in  that  Mr.  Ogle- 
thorpe." 

The  others  at  once  patronized  her.  "  Oh, 
you  don't,  my  dear?  Well,  let  me  tell  you 
that  bank  stock  waves  in  the  air  like  a  banner. 
You  would  see  it  if  you  were  her." 

"  Well,  she  don't  have  to  care  for  his 
money." 

"  Oh,  no,  of  course  she  don't  have  to.  But 
they  are  just  the  ones  that  do,  my  dear.  They 
are  just  the  ones  that  do." 

"  Well,  it's  a  shame." 

"  Oh,  of  course  it's  a  shame." 

The  woman  who  had  assembled  the  corps 
said  to  one  at  her  side :  "  Oh,  the  commonest 
kind  of  people,  my  dear,  the  commonest  kind. 
The  father  is  a  regular  farmer,  you  know. 
He  drives  oxen.  Such  language !  You  can 
really  hear  him  miles  away  bellowing  at  those 
oxen.  And  the  girls  are  shy,  half-wild  things 
— oh,  you  have  no  idea !  I  saw  one  of  them 
yesterday  when  we  were  out  driving.  She 
dodged  as  we  came  along,  for  I  suppose  she 
was  ashamed  of  her  frock,  poor  child !  And 


72  THE   THIRD  VIOLET. 

the  mother — well,  I  wish  you  could  see  her ! 
A  little,  old,  dried-up  thing.  We  saw  her 
carrying  a  pail  of  water  from  the  well,  and, 
oh,  she  bent  and  staggered  dreadfully,  poor 
thing !  " 

"  And  the  gate  to  their  front  yard,  it  has  a 
broken  hinge,  you  know.  Of  course,  that's  an 
awful  bad  sign.  When  people  let  their  front 
gate  hang  on  one  hinge  you  know  what  that 
means." 

After  gazing  again  at  the  group  at  the 
court,  the  youngest  member  of  the  corps  said, 
"  Well,  he's  a  good  tennis  player  anyhow." 

The  others  smiled  indulgently.  "  Oh,  yes, 
my  dear,  he's  a  good  tennis  player." 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

ONE  day  Hollander!  said,  in  greeting,  to 
Hawker,  "  Well,  he's  gone." 

"  Who  ?  "  asked  Hawker. 

"  Why,  Oglethorpe,  of  course.  Who  did 
you  think  I  meant  ?  " 

"  How  did  I  know  ? "  said  Hawker  an- 
grily. 

"Well,"  retorted  Hollanden,  "your  chief 
interest  was  in  his  movements,  I  thought." 

"  Why,  of  course  not,  hang  you !  Why 
should  I  be  interested  in  his  movements  ?  " 

"  Well,  you  weren't,  then.  Does  that  suit 
you?" 

After  a  period  of  silence  Hawker  asked, 
"  What  did  he — what  made  him  go  ?  " 

"Who?" 

"  Why— Oglethorpe." 

"  How  was  I  to  know  you  meant  him  ? 
Well,  he  went  because  some  important  busi- 
ness affairs  in  New  York  demanded  it,  he  said ; 
73 


74  THE  THIRD  VIOLET. 

but  he  is  coming  back  again  in  a  week.  They 
had  rather  a  late  interview  on  the  porch  last 
evening." 

"  Indeed,"  said  Hawker  stiffly. 

"Yes,  and  he  went  away  this  morning 
looking  particularly  elated.  Aren't  you 
glad?" 

"  I  don't  see  how  it  concerns  me,"  said 
Hawker,  with  still  greater  stiffness. 

In  a  walk  to  the  lake  that  afternoon 
Hawker  and  Miss  Fanhall  found  themselves 
side  by  side  and  silent.  The  girl  contem- 
plated the  distant  purple  hills  as  if  Hawker 
were  not  at  her  side  and  silent.  Hawker 
frowned  at  the  roadway.  Stanley,  the  setter, 
scouted  the  fields  in  a  genial  gallop. 

At  last  the  girl  turned  to  him.  "  Seems  to 
me,"  she  said,  "  seems  to  me  you  are  dreadful- 
ly quiet  this  afternoon." 

"  I  am  thinking  about  my  wretched  field 
of  stubble,"  he  answered,  still  frowning. 

Her  parasol  swung  about  until  the  girl 
was  looking  up  at  his  inscrutable  profile.  "  Is 
it,  then,  so  important  that  you  haven't  time  to 
talk  to  me  ?  "  she  asked  with  an  air  of  what 
might  have  been  timidity. 


THE   THIRD  VIOLET.  75 

A  smile  swept  the  scowl  from  his  face. 
"  No,  indeed,"  he  said,  instantly  ;  "  nothing  is 
so  important  as  that." 

She  seemed  aggrieved  then.  "  Hum — you 
didn't  look  so,"  she  told  him. 

"  Well,  I  didn't  mean  to  look  any  other 
way,"  he  said  contritely.  "  You  know  what 
a  bear  I  am  sometimes.  Hollanden  says  it  is 
a  fixed  scowl  from  trying  to  see  uproarious 
pinks,  yellows,  and  blues." 

A  little  brook,  a  brawling,  ruffianly  little 
brook,  swaggered  from  side  to  side  down 
the  glade,  swirling  in  white  leaps  over  the 
great  dark  rocks  and  shouting  challenge  to 
the  hillsides.  Hollanden  and  the  Wor- 
cester girls  had  halted  in  a  place  of  ferns 
and  wet  moss.  Their  voices  could  be  heard 
quarrelling  above  the  clamour  of  the  stream. 
Stanley,  the  setter,  had  sousled  himself  in  a 
pool  and  then  gone  and  rolled  in  the  dust 
of  the  road.  He  blissfully  lolled  there, 
with  his  coat  now  resembling  an  old  door 
mat. 

"  Don't  you  think  Jem  is  a  wonderfully  good 
fellow  ?  "  said  the  girl  to  the  painter. 

"  Why,  yes,  of  course,"  said  Hawker. 


76  THE  THIRD  VIOLET. 

"  Well,  he  is,"  she  retorted,  suddenly  de- 
fensive. 

"  Of  course,"  he  repeated  loudly. 

She  said,  "  Well,  I  don't  think  you  like 
him  as  well  as  I  like  him." 

"  Certainly  not,"  said  Hawker. 

"  You  don't  ? "  She  looked  at  him  in  a 
kind  of  astonishment. 

"  Certainly  not,"  said  Hawker  again,  and 
very  irritably.  "  How  in  the  wide  world  do 
you  expect  me  to  like  him  as  well  as  you  like 
him  ?  " 

"  I  don't  mean  as  well,"  she  explained. 

"  Oh  !  "  said  Hawker. 

"  But  I  mean  you  don't  like  him  the  way  I 
do  at  all — the  way  I  expected  you  to  like  him. 
I  thought  men  of  a  certain  pattern  always 
fancied  their  kind  of  men  wherever  they  met 
them,  don't  you  know?  And  I  was  so  sure 
you  and  Jem  would  be  friends." 

"  Oh  ! "  cried  Hawker.  Presently  he  added, 
"  But  he  isn't  my  kind  of  a  man  at  all." 

"  He  is.  Jem  is  one  of  the  best  fellows  in 
the  world." 

Again  Hawker  cried  "  Oh  !  " 

They    paused    and    looked    down    at   the 


THE   THIRD   VIOLET. 


77 


brook.  Stanley  sprawled  panting  in  the  dust 
and  watched  them.  Hawker  leaned  against  a 
hemlock.  He  sighed  and  frowned,  and  then 
finally  coughed  with  great  resolution.  "  I  sup- 
pose, of  course,  that  I  am  unjust  to  him.  I 
care  for  you  myself,  you  understand,  and  so 
it  becomes " 

He  paused  for  a  moment  because  he  heard 
a  rustling  of  her  skirts  as  if  she  had  moved 
suddenly.  Then  he  continued :  "  And  so  it 
becomes  difficult  for  me  to  be  fair  to  him.  I 
am  not  able  to  see  him  with  a  true  eye."  He 
bitterly  addressed  the  trees  on  the  opposite 
side  of  the  glen.  "  Oh,  I  care  for  you,  of 
course.  You  might  have  expected  it."  He 
turned  from  the  trees  and  strode  toward  the 
roadway.  The  uninformed  and  disreputable 
Stanley  arose  and  wagged  his  tail. 

As  if  the  girl  had  cried  out  at  a  calamity, 
Hawker  said  again,  "  Well,  you  might  have 
expected  it." 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

i 

AT  the  lake,  Hollander!  went  pickerel  fish- 
ing, lost  his  hook  in  a  gaunt,  gray  stump, 
and  earned  much  distinction  by  his  skill  in 
discovering  words  to  express  his  emotion 
without  resorting  to  the  list  ordinarily  used 
in  such  cases.  The  younger  Miss  Worcester 
ruined  a  new  pair  of  boots,  and  Stanley  sat  on 
the  bank  and  howled  the  song  of  the  forsaken. 
At  the  conclusion  of  the  festivities  Hollanden 
said,  "  Billie,  you  ought  to  take  the  boat 
back." 

"  Why  had  I  ?     You  borrowed  it." 

"  Well,  I  borrowed  it  and  it  was  a  lot  of 
trouble,  and  now  you  ought  to  take  it  back." 

Ultimately  Hawker  said,  "Oh,  let's  both 
go!" 

On  this  journey  Hawker  made  a  long 
speech  to  his  friend,  and  at  the  end  of  it  he 
exclaimed :  "  And  now  do  you  think  she  cares 

so  much  for  Oglethorpe?     Why,  she  as  good 

78 


THE   THIRD   VIOLET.  79 

as  told  me  that  he  was  only  a  very  great 
friend." 

Hollanden  wagged  his  head  dubiously. 
"  What  a  woman  says  doesn't  amount  to 
shucks.  It's  the  way  she  says  it — that's  what 
counts.  Besides,"  he  cried  in  a  brilliant  after- 
thought, "  she  wouldn't  tell  you,  anyhow,  you 
fool ! " 

"  You're  an  encouraging  brute,"  said  Haw- 
ker, with  a  rueful  grin. 

Later  the  Worcester  girls  seized  upon 
Hollanden  and  piled  him  high  with  ferns  and 
mosses.  They  dragged  the  long  gray  lichens 
from  the  chins  of  venerable  pines,  and  ran 
with  them  to  Hollanden,  and  dashed  them 
into  his  arms.  "  Oh,  hurry  up,  Hollie  !  "  they 
cried,  because  with  his  great  load  he  fre- 
quently fell  behind  them  in  the  march.  He 
once  positively  refused  to  carry  these  things 
another  step.  Some  distance  farther  on  the 
road  he  positively  refused  to  carry  this  old 
truck  another  step.  When  almost  to  the  inn 
he  positively  refused  to  carry  this  senseless 
rubbish  another  step.  The  Worcester  girls 
had  such  vivid  contempt  for  his  expressed 
unwillingness  that  they  neglected  to  tell  him 


80  THE   THIRD  VIOLET. 

of  any  appreciation  they  might  have  had  for 
his  noble  struggle. 

As  Hawker  and  Miss  Fanhall  proceeded 
slowly  they  heard  a  voice  ringing  through 
the  foliage  :  "  Whoa  !  Haw  !  Git-ap,  blast 
you  !  Haw !  Haw,  drat  your  hides !  Will 
you  haw  ?  Git-ap  !  Gee  !  Whoa !  " 

Hawker  said,  "The  others  are  a  good 
ways  ahead.  Hadn't  we  better  hurry  a 
little?" 

The  girl  obediently  mended  her  pace. 

"  Whoa !  haw !  git-ap !"  shouted  the  voice  in 
the  distance.  "  Git  over  there,  Red,  git  over! 
Gee!  Git-ap!  And  these  cries  pursued  the 
man  and  the  maid. 

At  last  Hawker  said,  "  That's  my  father." 

"  Where?  "  she  asked,  looking  bewildered. 

"  Back  there,  driving  those  oxen." 

The  voice  shouted  :  "Whoa!  Git-ap!  Gee! 
Red,  git  over  there  now,  will  you?  I'll  trim 
the  shin  off' n  you  in  a  minute.  Whoa !  Haw ! 
Haw!  Whoa!  Git-ap ! " 

Hawker  repeated,  "  Yes,  that's  my  father." 

"Oh,  is  it?"  she  said.  "Let's  wait  for 
him." 

"  All  right,"  said  Hawker  sullenly. 


THE   THIRD  VIOLET.  8 1 

Presently  a  team  of  oxen  waddled  into 
view  around  the  curve  of  the  road.  They 
swung  their  heads  slowly  from  side  to  side, 
bent  under  the  yoke,  and  looked  out  at  the 
world  with  their  great  eyes,  in  which  was  a 
mystic  note  of  their  humble,  submissive,  toil- 
some lives.  An  old  wagon  creaked  after  them, 
and  erect  upon  it  was  the  tall  and  tattered 
figure  of  the  farmer  swinging  his  whip  and 
yelling:  "Whoa!  Haw  there!  Git-ap  !  "  The 
lash  flicked  and  flew  over  the  broad  backs  of 
the  animals. 

"  Hello,  father  !  "  said  Hawker. 

"Whoa!  Back!  Whoa!  Why,  hello,  Wil- 
liam, what  you  doing  here  ?  " 

"  Oh,  just  taking  a  walk.  Miss  Fanhall, 
this  is  my  father.  Father ' 

"  How  d'  you  do  ?  "  The  old  man  balanced 
himself  with  care  and  then  raised  his  straw 
hat  from  his  head  with  a  quick  gesture  and 
with  what  was  perhaps  a  slightly  apologetic 
air,  as  if  he  feared  that  he  was  rather  over- 
doing the  ceremonial  part. 

The  girl  later  became  very  intent  upon  the 
oxen.  "  Aren't  they  nice  old  things  ?  "  she 
said,  as  she  stood  looking  into  the  faces  of 


82  THE    THIRD   VIOLET. 

the  team.  "  But  what  makes  their  eyes  so 
very  sad  ?  " 

"  I  dunno,"  said  the  old  man. 

She  was  apparently  unable  to  resist  a  de- 
sire to  pat  the  nose  of  the  nearest  ox,  and  for 
that  purpose  she  stretched  forth  a  cautious 
hand.  But  the  ox  moved  restlessly  at  the 
moment  and  the  girl  put  her  hand  apprehen- 
sively behind  herself  and  backed  away.  The 
old  man  on  the  wagon  grinned.  "  They  won't 
hurt  you/'  he  told  her. 

"  They  won't  bite,  will  they  ?  "  she  asked, 
casting  a  glance  of  inquiry  at  the  old  man  and 
then  turning  her  eyes  again  upon  the  fascinat- 
ing animals. 

"  No,"  said  the  old  man,  still  grinning, 
"  just  as  gentle  as  kittens." 

She  approached  them  circuitously.  "  Sure  ?  " 
she  said. 

"  Sure,"  replied  the  old  man.  He  climbed 
from  the  wagon  and  came  to  the  heads  of  the 
oxen.  With  him  as  an  ally,  she  finally  suc- 
ceeded in  patting  the  nose  of  the  nearest  ox. 
"  Aren't  they  solemn,  kind  old  fellows  ?  Don't 
you  get  to  think  a  great  deal  of  them  ?  " 

"  Well,  they're  kind  of  aggravating  beasts 


THE   THIRD   VIOLET.  83 

sometimes,"  he  said.  "  But  they're  a  good 
yoke — a  good  yoke.  They  can  haul  with  any- 
thing in  this  region." 

"  It  doesn't  make  them  so  terribly  tired, 
does  it  ?  "  she  said  hopefully.  "  They  are  such 
strong  animals." 

"  No-o-o,"  he  said.  "  I  dunno.  I  never 
thought  much  about  it." 

With  their  heads  close  together  they  be- 
came so  absorbed  in  their  conversation  that 
they  seemed  to  forget  the  painter.  He  sat  on 
a  log  and  watched  them. 

Ultimately  the  girl  said,  "  Won't  you  give 
us  a  ride  ?  " 

"  Sure,"  said  the  old  man.  "  Come  on,  and 
I'll  help  you  up."  He  assisted  her  very  pains- 
takingly to  the  old  board  that  usually  served 
him  as  a  seat,  and  he  clambered  to  a  place 
beside  her.  "  Come  on,  William,"  he  called. 
The  painter  climbed  into  the  wagon  and  stood 
behind  his  father,  putting  his  hand  on  the  old 
man's  shoulder  to  preserve  his  balance. 

"  Which  is  the  near  ox  ?  "  asked  the  girl? 
with  a  serious  frown. 

"  Git-ap  !  Haw  !  That  one  there,"  said  the 
old  man. 


84  THE    THIRD   VIOLET. 

"  And  this  one  is  the  off  ox  ?  " 

"  Yep." 

"  Well,  suppose  you  sat  here  where  I  do ; 
would  this  one  be  the  near  ox  and  that  one 
the  off  ox,  then  ?  " 

"  Nope.     Be  just  same." 

"  Then  the  near  ox  isn't  always  the  nearest 
one  to  a  person,  at  all  ?  That  ox  there  is  al- 
ways the  near  ox  ?  " 

"  Yep,  always.  'Cause  when  you  drive 
'em  a-foot  you  always  walk  on  the  left  side." 

"  Well,  I  never  knew  that  before." 

After  studying  them  in  silence  for  a  while, 
she  said,  "  Do  you  think  they  are  happy  ?  " 

"  I  dunno,"  said  the  old  man.  "  I  never 
thought."  As  the  wagon  creaked  on  they 
gravely  discussed  this  problem,  contemplating 
profoundly  the  backs  of  the  animals.  Hawker 
gazed  in  silence  at  the  meditating  two  before 
him.  Under  the  wagon  Stanley,  the  setter, 
walked  slowly,  wagging  his  tail  in  placid  con- 
tentment and  ruminating  upon  his  experiences. 

At  last  the  old  man  said  cheerfully,  "  Shall 
I  take  you  around  by  the  inn  ?  " 

Hawker  started  and  seemed  to  wince  at 
the  question.  Perhaps  he  was  about  to  inter- 


THE   THIRD  VIOLET.  8$ 

rupt,  but  the  girl  cried:  "  Oh,  will  you  ?  Take 
us  right  to  the  door  ?  Oh,  that  will  be  aw- 
fully good  of  you  !  " 

"  Why,"  began  Hawker,  "  you  don't  want 
— you  don't  want  to  ride  to  the  inn  on  an — on 
an  ox  wagon,  do  you  ?  " 

"  Why,  of  course  I  do,"  she  retorted, 
directing  a  withering  glance  at  him. 

"  Well "  he  protested. 

"  Let  'er  be,  William,"  interrupted  the  old 
man.  "  Let  'er  do  what  she  wants  to.  I  guess 
everybody  in  th'  world  ain't  even  got  an  ox 
wagon  to  ride  in.  Have  they  ?  " 

"  No,  indeed,"  she  returned,  while  wither- 
ing Hawker  again. 

"  Gee  !  Gee  !  Whoa  !  Haw  !  Git-ap  ! 
Haw!  Whoa!  Back!" 

After  these  two  attacks  Hawker  became 
silent. 

"  Gee  !  Gee  !  Gee  there,  blast — s'cuse 
me.  Gee!  Whoa!  Git-ap!" 

All  the  boarders  of  the  inn  were  upon  its 
porches  waiting  for  the  dinner  gong.  There 
was  a  surge  toward  the  railing  as  a  middle- 
aged  woman  passed  the  word  along  her  mid- 
dle-aged friends  that  Miss  Fanhall,  accom- 


86  THE   THIRD   VIOLET. 

panied  by  Mr.  Hawker,  had  arrived  on  the 
ox  cart  of  Mr.  Hawker's  father. 

"  Whoa  !  Ha  !  Git-ap  !  "  said  the  old  man 
in  more  subdued  tones.  "  Whoa  there,  Red  ! 
Whoa,  now  !  Wh-o-a  !  " 

Hawker  helped  the  girl  to  alight,  and  she 
paused  for  a  moment  conversing  with  the  old 
man  about  the  oxen.  Then  she  ran  smiling 
up  the  steps  to  meet  the  Worcester  girls. 

"  Oh,  such  a  lovely  time  !  Those  dear  old 
oxen — you  should  have  been  with  us !  " 


CHAPTER   XV. 

"  OH,  Miss  Fanhall !  " 

"  What  is  it,  Mrs.  Truscot  ?  " 

"  That  was  a  great  prank  of  yours  last 
night,  my  dear.  We  all  enjoyed  the  joke  so 
much." 

"Prank?" 

"  Yes,  your  riding  on  the  ox  cart  with  that 
old  farmer  and  that  young  Mr.  What's-his- 
name,  you  know.  We  all  thought  it  delicious. 
Ah,  my  dear,  after  all — don't  be  offended — if 
we  had  your  people's  wealth  and  position  we 
might  do  that  sort  of  unconventional  thing, 
too ;  but,  ah,  my  dear,  we  can't,  we  can't ! 
Isn't  the  young  painter  a  charming  man  ?  " 

Out  on  the  porch  Hollanden  was  ha- 
ranguing his  friends.  He  heard  a  step  and 
glanced  over  his  shoulder  to  see  who  was 
about  to  interrupt  him.  He  suddenly  ceased 
his  oration,  and  said,  "  Hello  !  what's  the  mat- 
ter with  Grace  ? "  The  heads  turned  promptlv. 
87 


88  THE   THIRD  VIOLET. 

As  the  girl  came  toward  them  it  could  be 
seen  that  her  cheeks  were  very  pink  and  her 
eyes  were  flashing  general  wrath  and  defiance. 

The  Worcester  girls  burst  into  eager  in- 
terrogation. "  Oh,  nothing  !  "  she  replied  at 
first,  but  later  she  added  in  an  undertone, 
"  That  wretched  Mrs.  Truscot " 

"  What  did  she  say  ? "  whispered  the 
younger  Worcester  girl. 

"  Why,  she  said— oh,  nothing!  " 

Both  Hollanden  and  Hawker  were  indus- 
triously reflecting. 

Later  in  the  morning  Hawker  said  pri- 
vately to  the  girl,  "  I  know  what  Mrs.  Truscot 
talked  to  you  about." 

She  turned  upon  him  belligerently.  "  You 
do?" 

"  Yes,"  he  answered  with  meekness.  "  It 
was  undoubtedly  some  reference  to  your  ride 
upon  the  ox  wagon." 

She  hesitated  a  moment,  and  then  said, 
''Well?" 

With  still  greater  meekness  he  said,  "  I  am 
very  sorry." 

"  Are  you,  indeed  ?  "  she  inquired  loftily. 
"Sorry  for  what?  Sorry  that  I  rode  upon 


THE   THIRD   VIOLET.  89 

your  father's  ox  wagon,  or  sorry  that  Mrs. 
Truscot  was  rude  to  me  about  it  ?  " 

"  Well,  in  some  ways  it  was  my  fault." 

"  Was  it  ?  I  suppose  you  intend  to  apolo- 
gize for  your  father's  owning  an  ox  wagon, 
don't  you?" 

«  No,  but " 

"  Well,  I  am  going  to  ride  in  the  ox  wagon 
whenever  I  choose.  Your  father,  I  know, 
will  always  be  glad  to  have  me.  And  if  it  so 
shocks  you,  there  is  not  the  slightest  necessity 
of  your  coming  with  us." 

They  glowered  at  each  other,  and  he  said, 
"  You  have  twisted  the  question  with  the 
usual  ability  of  your  sex." 

She  pondered  as  if  seeking  some  particu- 
larly destructive  retort.  She  ended  by  saying 
bluntly,  "  Did  you  know  that  we  were  going 
home  next  week?" 

A  flush  came  suddenly  to  his  face.  "  No. 
Going  home  ?  Who  ?  You  ?  " 

"  Why,  of  course."  And  then  with  an 
indolent  air  she  continued,  "  I  meant  to  have 
told  you  before  this,  but  somehow  it  quite 
escaped  me." 

He  stammered,  "  Are — are  you,  honestly  ?  " 


go  THE   THIRD  VIOLET. 

She  nodded.  "  Why,  of  course.  Can't 
stay  here  forever,  you  know." 

They  were  then  silent  for  a  long  time. 

At  last  Hawker  said,  "  Do  you  remember 
what  I  told  you  yesterday  ?  " 

"No.     What  was  it?" 

He  cried  indignantly,  "  You  know  very 
well  what  I  told  you !  " 

"  I  do  not." 

"  No,"  he  sneered,  "  of  course  not !  You 
never  take  the  trouble  to  remember  such 
things.  Of  course  not !  Of  course  not !  " 

"  You  are  a  very  ridiculous  person,"  she 
vouchsafed,  after  eying  him  coldly. 

He  arose  abruptly.  "  I  believe  I  am.  By 
heavens,  I  believe  I  am ! "  he  cried  in  a 
fury. 

She  laughed.  "  You  are  more  ridiculous 
now  than  I  have  yet  seen  you." 

After  a  pause  he  said  magnificently,  "  Well, 
Miss  Fanhall,  you  will  doubtless  find  Mr.  Hol- 
landen's  conversation  to  have  a  much  greater 
interest  than  that  of  such  a  ridiculous  per- 
son." 

Hollanden  approached  them  with  the 
blithesome  step  of  an  untroubled  man.  "  Hello, 


THE  THIRD  VIOLET.  9! 

you  two  people,  why  don't  you — oh — ahem  ! 
Hold  on,  Billie,  where  are  you  going?  " 

"  I "  began  Hawker. 

"  Oh,  Hollie,"  cried  the  girl  impetuously, 
"  do  tell  me  how  to  do  that  slam  thing,  you 
know.  I've  tried  it  so  often,  but  I  don't  be- 
lieve I  hold  my  racket  right.  And  you  do  it 
so  beautifully." 

"  Oh,  that,"  said  Hollanden.  "  It's  not  so 
very  difficult.  I'll  show  it  to  you.  You  don't 
want  to  know  this  minute,  do  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  she  answered. 

"  Well,  come  over  to  the  court,  then. 
Come  ahead,  Billie!" 

"  No,"  said  Hawker,  without  looking  at  his 
friend,  "  I  can't  this  morning,  Hoilie.  I've  got 
to  go  to  work.  Good-bye ! "  He  compre- 
hended them  both  in  a  swift  bow  and  stalked 
away. 

Hollanden  turned  quickly  to  the  girl. 
"What  was  the  matter  with  Billie?  What 
was  he  grinding  his  teeth  for  ?  What  was  the 
matter  with  him?" 

"  Why,  nothing — was  there  ?  "  she  asked  in 
surprise. 

"  Why,  he  was  grinding  his  teeth  until  he 


g2  THE   THIRD  VIOLET. 

sounded  like  a  stone  crusher,"  said  Hollanden 
in  a  severe  tone.  "  What  was  the  matter  with 
him?" 

"  How  should  I  know?"  she  retorted. 

"  You've  been  saying  something  to  him." 

"  I !     I  didn't  say  a  thing." 

"  Yes,  you  did." 

"  Hollie,  don't  be  absurd." 

Hollanden  debated  with  himself  for  a  time, 
and  then  observed,  "  Oh,  well,  I  always  said 
he  was  an  ugly-tempered  fellow " 

The  girl  flashed  him  a  little  glance. 

"  And  now  I  am  sure  of  it — as  ugly-tem- 
pered a  fellow  as  ever  lived." 

"  I  believe  you,"  said  the  girl.  Then  she 
added  :  "  All  men  are.  I  declare,  I  think  you 
to  be  the  most  incomprehensible  creatures. 
One  never  knows  what  to  expect  of  you. 
And  you  explode  and  go  into  rages  and  make 
yourselves  utterly  detestable  over  the  most 
trivial  matters  and  at  the  most  unexpected 
times.  You  are  all  mad,  I  think." 

"I!"  cried  Hollanden  wildly.  "  What  in 
the  mischief  have  I  done?" 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

"LOOK  here,"  said  Hollanden,  at  length, 
"  I  thought  you  were  so  wonderfully  anxious 
to  learn  that  stroke  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  am,"  she  said. 

"  Come  on,  then."  As  they  walked  toward 
the  tennis  court  he  seemed  to  be  plunged  into 
mournful  thought.  In  his  eyes  was  a  singular 
expression,  which  perhaps  denoted  the  woe  of 
the  optimist  pushed  suddenly  from  its  height. 
He  sighed.  "  Oh,  well,  I  suppose  all  women, 
even  the  best  of  them,  are  that  way." 

"  What  way  ?  "  she  said. 

"  My  dear  child,"  he  answered,  in  a  benevo- 
lent manner,  "  you  have  disappointed  me,  be- 
cause I  have  discovered  that  you  resemble  the 
rest  of  your  sex." 

"  Ah  !  "  she  remarked,  maintaining  a  non- 
committal attitude. 

"  Yes,"  continued   Hollanden,  with   a  sad 

but  kindly  smile,  "  even  you,  Grace,  were  not 
7  93 


94  THE   THIRD  VIOLET. 

above  fooling  with  the  affections  of  a  poor 
country  swain,  until  he  don't  know  his  ear 
from  the  tooth  he  had  pulled  two  years  ago." 

She  laughed.  "  He  would  be  furious  if  he 
heard  you  call  him  a  country  swain." 

"  Who  would  ?  "  said  Hollanden. 

"  Why,  the  country  swain,  of  course,"  she 
rejoined. 

Hollanden  seemed  plunged  in  mournful 
reflection  again.  "  Well,  it's  a  shame,  Grace, 
anyhow,"  he  observed,  wagging  his  head 
dolefully.  "  It's  a  howling,  wicked  shame." 

"  Hollie,  you  have  no  brains  at  all,"  she 
said,  "  despite  your  opinion." 

"  No,"  he  replied  ironically,  "  not  a  bit." 

"  Well,  you  haven't,  you  know,  Hollie." 

"  At  any  rate,"  he  said  in  an  angry  voice, 
"  I  have  some  comprehension  and  sympathy 
for  the  feelings  of  others." 

"  Have  you  ?  "  she  asked.  "  How  do  you 
mean,  Hollie  ?  Do  you  mean  you  have  feel- 
ing for  them  in  their  various  sorrows  ?  Or  do 
you  mean  that  you  understand  their  minds  ?" 

Hollanden  ponderously  began,  "  There 
have  been  people  who  have  not  questioned 
my  ability  to " 


THE  THIRD  VIOLET.  95 

"  Oh,  then,  you  mean  that  you  both  feel 
for  them  in  their  sorrows  and  comprehend  the 
machinery  of  their  minds.  Well,  let  me  tell 
you  that  in  regard  to  the  last  thing  you  are 
wrong.  You  know  nothing  of  anyone's  mind. 
You  know  less  about  human  nature  than  any- 
body I  have  met." 

Hollanden  looked  at  her  in  artless  astonish- 
ment. He  said,  "  Now,  I  wonder  what  made 
you  say  that  ? "  This  interrogation  did  not 
seem  to  be  addressed  to  her,  but  was  evidently 
a  statement  to  himself  of  a  problem.  He 
meditated  for  some  moments.  Eventually  he 
said,  "  I  suppose  you  mean  that  I  do  not  un- 
derstand you?" 

"  Why  do  you  suppose  I  mean  that  ?  " 

"  That's  what  a  person  usually  means  when 
he — or  she — charges  another  with  not  under- 
standing the  entire  world." 

"  Well,  at  any  rate,  it  is  not  what  I  mean 
at  all,"  she  said.  "  I  mean  that  you  habitually 
blunder  about  other  people's  affairs,  in  the  be- 
lief, I  imagine,  that  you  are  a  great  philan- 
thropist, when  you  are  only  making  an  ex- 
traordinary exhibition  of  yourself." 

"  The  dev "  began  Hollanden.     After- 


96  THE   THIRD  VIOLET. 

ward  he  said,  "  Now,  I  wonder  what  in  blue 
thunder  you  mean  this  time  ?  " 

"  Mean  this  time  ?  My  meaning-  is  very 
plain,  Hollie.  I  supposed  the  words  were 
clear  enough." 

"  Yes,"  he  said  thoughtfully,  "  your  words 
were  clear  enough,  but  then  you  were  of 
course  referring  back  to  some  event,  or  series 
of  events,  in  which  I  had  the  singular  ill  for- 
tune to  displease  you.  Maybe  you  don't  know 
yourself,  and  spoke  only  from  the  emotion 
generated  by  the  event,  or  series  of  events,  in 
which,  as  I  have  said,  I  had  the  singular  ill 
fortune  to  displease  you." 

"  How  awf'ly  clever  !  "  she  said. 

"  But  I  can't  recall  the  event,  or  series  of 
events,  at  all,"  he  continued,  musing  with  a 
scholarly  air  and  disregarding  her  mockery. 
"  I  can't  remember  a  thing  about  it.  To  be 
sure,  it  might  have  been  that  time  when " 

"  I  think  it  very  stupid  of  you  to  hunt 
for  a  meaning  when  I  believe  I  made  every- 
thing so  perfectly  clear,"  she  said  wrathfully. 

"  Well,  you  yourself  might  not  be  aware  of 
what  you  really  meant,"  he  answered  sagely. 
"Women  often  do  that  sort  of  thing,  you 


THE   THIRD  VIOLET.  97 

know.  Women  often  speak  from  motives 
which,  if  brought  face  to  face  with  them,  they 
wouldn't  be  able  to  distinguish  from  any  other 
thing  which  they  had  never  before  seen." 

"  Hollie,  if  there  is  a  disgusting  person  in 
the  world  it  is  he  who  pretends  to  know  so 
much  concerning  a  woman's  mind." 

"  Well,  that's  because  they  who  know,  or 
pretend  to  know,  so  much  about  a  woman's 
mind  are  invariably  satirical,  you  understand," 
said  Hollanden  cheerfully. 

A  dog  ran  frantically  across  the  lawn,  his 
nose  high  in  the  air  and  his  countenance 
expressing  vast  perturbation  and  alarm. 
"  Why,  Billie  forgot  to  whistle  for  his  dog 
when  he  started  for  home,"  said  Hollanden. 
"Come  here,  old  man!  Well,  'e  was  a  nice 
dog  !  "  The  girl  also  gave  invitation,  but  the 
setter  would  not  heed  them.  He  spun  wildly 
about  the  lawn  until  he  seemed  to  strike  his 
master's  trail,  and  then,  with  his  nose  near 
to  the  ground,  went  down  the  road  at  an 
eager  gallop.  They  stood  and  watched  him. 

"  Stanley's  a  nice  dog,"  said  Hollanden. 

"  Indeed  he  is !  "  replied  the  girl  fervently. 

Presently    Hollanden    remarked :    "  Well, 


98  THE   THIRD  VIOLET. 

don't  let's  fight  any  more,  particularly  since 
we  can't  decide  what  we're  fighting  about.  I 
can't  discover  the  reason,  and  you  don't  know 
it,  so " 

"  I  do  know  it.     I  told  you  very  plainly." 

"  Well,  all  right.  Now,  this  is  the  way  to 
work  that  slam  :  You  give  the  ball  a  sort  of  a 
lift — see  ! — underhanded  and  with  your  arm 
crooked  and  stiff.  Here,  you  smash  this 
other  ball  into  the  net.  Hi !  Look  out !  If 
you  hit  it  that  way  you'll  knock  it  over  the 
hotel.  Let  the  ball  drop  nearer  to  the  ground. 
Oh,  heavens,  not  on  the  ground !  Well,  it's 
hard  to  do  it  from  the  serve,  anyhow.  I'll  go 
over  to  the  other  court  and  bat  you  some  easy 
ones." 

Afterward,  when  they  were  going  toward 
the  inn,  the  girl  suddenly  began  to  laugh. 

"  What  are  you  giggling  at  ?  "  said  Hol- 
landen. 

"  I  was  thinking  how  furious  he  would  be 
if  he  heard  you  call  him  a  country  swain,"  she 
rejoined. 

"  Who  ?  "  asked  Hollanden. 


CHAPTER    XVII. 

OGLETHORPE  contended  that  the  men  who 
made  the  most  money  from  books  were  the 
best  authors.  Hollanden  contended  that  they 
were  the  worst.  Oglethorpe  said  that  such  a 
question  should  be  left  to  the  people.  Hol- 
landen said  that  the  people  habitually  made 
wrong  decisions  on  questions  that  were  left  to 
them.  "  That  is  the  most  odiously  aristocratic 
belief,"  said  Oglethorpe. 

"  No,"  said  Hollanden,  "  I  like  the  people. 
But,  considered  generally,  they  are  a  collec- 
tion of  ingenious  blockheads." 

"  But  they  read  your  books,"  said  Ogle- 
thorpe, grinning. 

"  That  is  through  a  mistake,"  replied  Hol- 
landen. 

As  the  discussion  grew  in  size  it  incited  the 
close  attention  of  the  Worcester  girls,  but  Miss 

Fanhall  did  not  seem  to  hear  it.    Hawker,  too, 
99 


100  THE   THIRD  VIOLET. 

was  staring  into  the  darkness  with  a  gloomy 
and  preoccupied  air. 

"  Are  you  sorry  that  this  is  your  last  even- 
ing at  Hemlock  Inn  ? "  said  the  painter  at  last, 
in  a  low  tone. 

"  Why,  yes — certainly,"  said  the  girl. 

Under  the  sloping  porch  of  the  inn  the 
vague  orange  light  from  the  parlours  drifted 
to  the  black  wall  of  the  night. 

"  I  shall  miss  you,"  said  the  painter. 

"  Oh,  I  dare  say,"  said  the  girl. 

Hollanden  was  lecturing  at  length  and 
wonderfully.  In  the  mystic  spaces  of  the 
night  the  pines  could  be  heard  in  their  weird 
monotone,  as  they  softly  smote  branch  and 
branch,  as  if  moving  in  some  solemn  and  sor- 
rowful dance. 

"  This  has  been  quite  the  most  delightful 
summer  of  my  experience,"  said  the  painter. 

"  I  have  found  it  very  pleasant,"  said  the 
girl. 

From  time  to  time  Hawker  glanced  fur- 
tively at  Oglethorpe,  Hollanden,  and  the 
Worcester  girl.  This  glance  expressed  no 
desire  for  their  well-being. 

"  I   shall  miss  you,"  he  said  to  the  girl 


THE  THIRD  VIOLET.  IOi 

again.  His  manner  was  rather  desperate.  She 
made  no  reply,  and,  after  leaning  toward  her, 
he  subsided  with  an  air  of  defeat. 

Eventually  he  remarked  :  "  It  will  be  very 
lonely  here  again.  I  dare  say  I  shall  return  to 
New  York  myself  in  a  few  weeks." 

"  I  hope  you  will  call,"  she  said. 

"  I  shall  be  delighted,"  he  answered  stiffly, 
and  with  a  dissatisfied  look  at  her. 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Hawker,"  cried  the  younger 
Worcester  girl,  suddenly  emerging  from  the 
cloud  of  argument  which  Hollanden  and 
Oglethorpe  kept  in  the  air,  "  won't  it  be 
sad  to  lose  Grace  ?  Indeed,  I  don't  know 
what  we  shall  do.  Sha'n't  we  miss  her  dread- 
fully ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Hawker,  "  we  shall  of  course 
miss  her  dreadfully." 

"  Yes,  won't  it  be  frightful  ?  "  said  the  elder 
Worcester  girl.  "  I  can't  imagine  what  we 
will  do  without  her.  And  Hollie  is  only  go- 
ing to  spend  ten  more  days.  Oh,  dear  ! 
mamma,  I  believe,  will  insist  on  staying  the 
entire  summer.  It  was  papa's  orders,  you 
know,  and  I  really  think  she  is  going  to  obey 
them.  He  said  he  wanted  her  to  have  one 


102  THE   THIRD   VIOLET. 

period  of  rest  at  any  rate.  She  is  such  a  busy 
woman  in  town,  you  know." 

"  Here/'  said  Hollanden,  wheeling  to  them 
suddenly,  "  you  all  look  as  if  you  were  badger- 
ing Hawker,  and  he  looks  badgered.  What 
are  you  saying  to  him  ?  " 

"  Why,"  answered  the  younger  Worcester 
girl,  "  we  were  only  saying  to  him  how  lonely 
it  would  be  without  Grace." 

"  Oh  !  "  said  Hollanden. 

As  the  evening  grew  old,  the  mother  of  the 
Worcester  girls  joined  the  group.  This  was  a 
sign  that  the  girls  were  not  to  long  delay  the 
vanishing  time.  She  sat  almost  upon  the  edge 
of  her  chair,  as  if  she  expected  to  be  called 
upon  at  any  moment  to  arise  and  bow  "  Good- 
night,"  and  she  repaid  Hollanden's  eloquent 
attention  with  the  placid  and  absent-minded 
smiles  of  the  chaperon  who  waits. 

Once  the  younger  Worcester  girl  shrugged 
her  shoulders  and  turned  to  say,  "  Mamma, 
you  make  me  nervous  !  "  Her  mother  merely 
smiled  in  a  still  more  placid  and  absent-minded 
manner. 

Oglethorpe  arose  to  drag  his  chair  nearer 
to  the  railing,  and  when  he  stood  the  Worces- 


THE   THIRD   VIOLET.  103 

ter  mother  moved  and  looked  around  expect 
antly,  but  Oglethorpe  took  seat  again.  Haw- 
ker  kept  an  anxious  eye  upon  her. 

Presently  Miss  Fanhall  arose. 

"  Why,  you  are  not  going  in  already,  are 
you  ?  "  said  Hawker  and  Hollanden  and  Ogle- 
thorpe. The  Worcester  mother  moved  to- 
ward the  door  followed  by  her  daughters, 
who  were  protesting  in  muffled  tones.  Hol- 
landen pitched  violently  upon  Oglethorpe. 

"  Well,  at  any  rate "  he  said.  He  picked 

the  thread  of  a  past  argument  with  great 
agility. 

Hawker  said  to  the  girl,  "  I— I— I  shall 
miss  you  dreadfully." 

She  turned  to  look  at  him  and  smiled. 
"  Shall  you  ?  "  she  said  in  a  low  voice. 

"  Yes,"  he  said.  Thereafter  he  stood  be- 
fore her  awkwardly  and  in  silence.  She  scru- 
tinized the  boards  of  the  floor.  Suddenly  she 
drew  a  violet  from  a  cluster  of  them  upon  her 
gown  and  thrust  it  out  to  him  as  she  turned 
toward  the  approaching  Oglethorpe. 

"  Good-night,  Mr.  Hawker,"  said  the  lat- 
ter. "  I  am  very  glad  to  have  met  you,  I'm 
sure.  Hope  to  see  you  in  town.  Good-night." 


104  THE   THI^D  VIOLET. 

He  stood  near  when  the  girl  said  to  Haw- 
ker :  "  Good-bye.  You  have  given  us  such  a 
charming  summer.  We  shall  be  delighted  to 
see  you  in  town.  You  must  come  some  time 
when  the  children  can  see  you,  too.  Good- 
bye." 

"  Good-bye,"  replied  Hawker,  eagerly  and 
feverishly,  trying  to  interpret  the  inscrutable 
feminine  face  before  him.  "  I  shall  come  at  my 
first  opportunity." 

"  Good-bye." 

"  Good-bye." 

Down  at  the  farmhouse,  in  the  black  quiet 
of  the  night,  a  dog  lay  curled  on  the  door-mat. 
Of  a  sudden  the  tail  of  this  dog  began  to 
thump,  thump,  on  the  boards.  It  began  as  a 
lazy  movement,  but  it  passed  into  a  state  of 
gentle  enthusiasm,  and  then  into  one  of  curi- 
ously loud  and  joyful  celebration.  At  last  the 
gate  clicked.  The  dog  uncurled,  and  went  to 
the  edge  of  the  steps  to  greet  his  master.  He 
gave  adoring,  tremulous  welcome  with  his 
clear  eyes  shining  in  the  darkness.  "Well, 
Stan,  old  boy,"  said  Hawker,  stooping  to 
stroke  the  dog's  head.  After  his  master  had 
entered  the  house  the  dog  went  forward  and 


THE   THIRD  VIOLET.  IO5 

sniffed  at  something  that  lay  on  the  top  step. 
Apparently  it  did  not  interest  him  greatly,  for 
he  returned  in  a  moment  to  the  door-mat. 

But  he  was  again  obliged  to  uncurl  him- 
self, for  his  master  came  out  of  the  house  with 
a  lighted  lamp  and  made  search  of  the  door- 
mat, the  steps,  and  the  walk,  swearing  mean- 
while in  an  undertone.  The  dog  wagged  his 
tail  and  sleepily  watched  this  ceremony. 
When  his  master  had  again  entered  the  house 
the  dog  went  forward  and  sniffed  at  the  top 
step,  but  the  thing  that  had  lain  there  was 
gone. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

IT  was  evident  at  breakfast  that  Hawker's 
sisters  had  achieved  information.  "What's 
the  matter  with  you  this  morning  ? "  asked 
one.  "  You  look  as  if  you  hadn't  slep'  well." 

"  There  is  nothing  the  matter  with  me,"  he 
rejoined,  looking  glumly  at  his  plate. 

"  Well,  you  look  kind  of  broke  up." 

"  How  I  look  is  of  no  consequence.  I  tell 
you  there  is  nothing  the  matter  with  me." 

"  Oh  !  "  said  his  sister.  She  exchanged 
meaning  glances  with  the  other  feminine 
members  of  the  family.  Presently  the  other 
sister  observed,  "  I  heard  she  was  going  home 
to-day." 

"  Who  ?  "  said  Hawker,  with  a  challenge  in 
his  tone. 

"  Why,  that  New  York  girl— Miss  What's- 
her-name,"  replied  the  sister,  with  an  un- 
daunted smile. 

"  Did  you,  indeed  ?     Well,  perhaps  she  is." 
106 


THE   THIRD   VIOLET. 

"  Oh,  you  don't  know  for  sure,  I  s'pose." 

Hawker  arose  from  the  table,  and,  taking 
his  hat,  went  away. 

"  Mary!"  said  the  mother,  in  the  sepulchral 
tone  of  belated  but  conscientious  reproof. 

"  Well,  I  don't  care.  He  needn't  be  so 
grand.  I  didn't  go  to  tease  him.  I  don't  care." 

"  Well,  you  ought  to  care,"  said  the  old 
man  suddenly.  "  There's  no  sense  in  you 
wimen  folks  pestering  the  boy  all  the  time. 
Let  him  alone  with  his  own  business,  can't 
you? " 

"  Well,  ain't  we  leaving  him  alone  ?  " 

"  No,  you  ain't — 'cept  when  he  ain't  here. 
I  don't  wonder  the  boy  grabs  his  hat  and  skips 
out  when  you  git  to  going." 

"  Well,  what  did  we  say  to  him  now  ? 
Tell  us  what  we  said  to  him  that  was  so 
dreadful." 

"  Aw,  thunder  an'  lightnin' !  "  cried  the  old 
man  with  a  sudden  great  snarl.  They  seemed 
to  know  by  this  ejaculation  that  he  had 
emerged  in  an  instant  from  that  place  where 
man  endures,  and  they  ended  the  discussion. 
The  old  man  continued  his  breakfast. 

During   his   walk   that   morning    Hawker 


IO8  THE   THIRD  VIOLET. 

visited  a  certain  cascade,  a  certain  lake,  and 
some  roads,  paths,  groves,  nooks.  Later  in 
the  day  he  made  a  sketch,  choosing  an  hour 
when  the  atmosphere  was  of  a  dark  blue,  like 
powder  smoke  in  the  shade  of  trees,  and  the 
western  sky  was  burning  in  strips  of  red.  He 
painted  with  a  wild  face,  like  a  man  who  is 
killing. 

After  supper  he  and  his  father  strolled 
under  the  apple  boughs  in  the  orchard  and 
smoked.  Once  he  gestured  wearily.  "  Oh,  I 
guess  I'll  go  back  to  New  York  in  'a  few 
days."  . 

"  Urn,"  replied  his  father  calmly.  "  All 
right,  William." 

Several  days  later  Hawker  accosted  his 
father  in  the  barnyard.  "  I  suppose  you  think 
sometimes  I  don't  care  so  much  about  you 
and  the  folks  and  the  old  place  any  more  ;  but 
I  do." 

"  Um,"  said  the  old  man.  "  When  you 
goin'?" 

"  Where  ?  "  asked  Hawker,  flushing. 

"  Back  to  New  York." 

"  Why — I  hadn't  thought  much  about 

Oh,  next  week,  I  guess." 


THE   THIRD  VIOLET. 


I09 


"  Well,  do  as  you  like,  William.  You 
know  how  glad  me  an*  mother  and  the  girls 
are  to  have  you  come  home  with  us  whenever 
you  can  come.  You  know  that.  But  you 
must  do  as  you  think  best,  and  if  you  ought  to 
go  back  to  New  York  now,  William,  why — do 
as  you  think  best." 

"  Well,  my  work "  said  Hawker. 

From  time  to  time  the  mother  made  won- 
dering speech  to  the  sisters.  "  How  much 
nicer  William  is  now !  He's  just  as  good  as  he 
can  be.  There  for  a  while  he  was  so  cross  and 
out  of  sorts.  1  don't  see  what  could  have 
come  over  him.  But  now  he's  just  as  good  as 
he  can  be." 

Hollanden  told  him,  "  Come  up  to  the  inn 
more,  you  fool." 

"  I  was  up  there  yesterday." 

"  Yesterday  !  What  of  that?  I've  seen  the 
time  when  the  farm  couldn't  hold  you  for  two 
hours  during  the  day." 

"  Go  to  blazes  !  " 

"  Millicent  got  a  letter  from  Grace  Fanhall 
the  other  day." 

"That  so?" 

"  Yes,   she   did.      Grace    wrote Say, 

8 


1 10  THE   THIRD  VIOLET. 

does  that  shadow  look  pure  purple  to 
you  ?  " 

"  Certainly  it  does,  or  I  wouldn't  paint  it 
so,  duffer.  What  did  she  write  ?  " 

"  Well,  if  that  shadow  is  pure  purple  my 
eyes  are  liars.  It  looks  a  kind  of  slate 
colour  to  me.  Lord !  if  what  you  fellows 
say  in  your  pictures  is  true,  the  whole  earth 
must  be  blazing  and  burning  and  glowing 
and " 

Hawker  went  into  a  rage.  "  Oh,  you  don't 
know  anything  about  colour,  Hollie.  For 
heaven's  sake,  shut  up,  or  I'll  smash  you  with 
the  easel." 

"  Well,  I  was  going  to  tell  you  what  Grace 
wrote  in  her  letter.  She  said " 

"  Go  on." 

"  Gimme  time,  can't  you  ?  She  said  that 
town  was  stupid,  and  that  she  wished  she  was 
back  at  Hemlock  Inn." 

"Oh!     Is  that  all?" 

"  Is  that  all  ?  I  wonder  what  you  ex- 
pected ?  Well,  and  she  asked  to  be  recalled 
to  you." 

-Yes?    Thanks." 

"  And  that's  all.     'Gad,  for  such  a  devoted 


THE   THIRD  VIOLET.  m 

man  as  you  were,  your  enthusiasm  and  inter- 
est is  stupendous." 

The  father  said  to  the  mother,  "  Well, 
William's  going  back  to  New  York  next 
week." 

"  Is  he  ?  Why,  he  ain't  said  nothing  to  me 
about  it." 

"  Well,  he  is,  anyhow." 

"  I  declare !  What  do  you  s'pose  he's  going 
back  before  September  for,  John  ?  " 

"  How  do  I  know?" 

"  Well,  it's  funny,  John.  I  bet— I  bet  he's 
going  back  so's  he  can  see  that  girl." 

"  He  says  it's  his  work." 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

WRINKLES  had  been  peering  into  the  little 
dry-goods  box  that  acted  as  a  cupboard. 
"  There  are  only  two  eggs  and  half  a  loaf  of 
bread  left,"  he  announced  brutally. 

"  Heavens  !  "  said  Warwickson  from  where 
he  lay  smoking  on  the  bed.  He  spoke  in  a 
dismal  voice.  This  tone,  it  is  said,  had  earned 
him  his  popular  name  of  Great  Grief. 

From  different  points  of  the  compass 
Wrinkles  looked  at  the  little  cupboard  with 
a  tremendous  scowl,  as  if  he  intended  thus  to 
frighten  the  eggs  into  becoming  more  than 
two,  and  the  bread  into  becoming  a  loaf. 
"  Plague  take  it !  "  he  exclaimed. 

"Oh,  shut  up,  Wrinkles!"  said  Grief  from 
the  bed. 

Wrinkles  sat  down  with  an  air  austere  and 
virtuous.  "  Well,  what  are  we  going  to  do  ?  " 
he  demanded  of  the  others. 

Grief,    after     swearing,     said :      "  There, 

112 


THE   THIRD  VIOLET.  n$ 

that's  right!  Now  you're  happy.  The  holy 
office  of  the  inquisition  !  Blast  your  buttons, 
Wrinkles,  you  always  try  to  keep  us  from 
starving  peacefully !  It  is  two  hours  before 
dinner,  anyhow,  and 

"  Well,  but  what  are  you  going  to  do  ? " 
persisted  Wrinkles. 

Pennoyer,  with  his  head  afar  down,  had 
been  busily  scratching  at  a  pen-and-ink  draw- 
ing. He  looked  up  from  his  board  to  utter  a 
plaintive  optimism.  "  The  Monthly  Amaze- 
ment will  pay  me  to-morrow.  They  ought 
to.  I've  waited  over  three  months  now.  I'm 
going  down  there  to-morrow,  and  perhaps  I'll 
get  it." 

His  friends  listened  with  airs  of  tolerance. 
"  Oh,  no  doubt,  Penny,  old  man."  But  at  last 
Wrinkles  giggled  pityingly.  Over  on  the 
bed  Grief  croaked  deep  down  in  his  throat. 
Nothing  was  said  for  a  long  time  thereafter. 

The  crash  of  the  New  York  streets  came 
faintly  to  this  room. 

Occasionally  one  could  hear  the  tramp  of 
feet  in  the  intricate  corridors  of  the  begrimed 
building  which  squatted,  slumbering,  and  old, 
between  two  exalted  commercial  structures 


II4  THE   THIRD  VIOLET. 

which  would  have  had  to  bend  afar  down  to 
perceive  it.  The  northward  march  of  the 
city's  progress  had  happened  not  to  overturn 
this  aged  structure,  and  it  huddled  there,  lost 
and  forgotten,  while  the  cloud-veering  towers 
strode  on. 

Meanwhile  the  first  shadows  of  dusk  came 
in  at  the  blurred  windows  of  the  room.  Pen- 
noyer  threw  down  his  pen  and  tossed  his 
drawing  over  on  the  wonderful  heap  of  stuff 
that  hid  the  table.  "  It's  too  dark  to  work." 
He  lit  a  pipe  and  walked  about,  stretching  his 
shoulders  like  a  man  whose  labour  was  valu- 
able. 

When  the  dusk  came  fully  the  youths 
grew  apparently  sad.  The  solemnity  of  the 
gloom  seemed  to  make  them  ponder.  "  Light 
the  gas,  Wrinkles,"  said  Grief  fretfully. 

The  flood  of  orange  light  showed  clearly 
the  dull  walls  lined  with  sketches,  the  tousled 
bed  in  one  corner,  the  masses  of  boxes  and 
trunks  in  another,  a  little  dead  stove,  and 
the  wonderful  table.  Moreover,  there  were 
wine-coloured  draperies  flung  in  some  places, 
and  on  a  shelf,  high  up,  there  were  plaster 
casts,  with  dust  in  the  creases.  A  long  stove- 


THE    THIRD   VIOLET.  ug 

pipe  wandered  off  in  the  wrong  direction  and 
then  turned  impulsively  toward  a  hole  in  the 
wall.  There  were  some  elaborate  cobwebs  on 
the  ceiling. 

"  Well,  let's  eat,"  said  Grief. 

"  Eat,"  said  Wrinkles,  with  a  jeer ;  "  I  told 
you  there  was  only  two  eggs  and  a  little  bread 
left.  How  are  we  going  to  eat?" 

Again  brought  face  to  face  with  this  prob- 
lem, and  at  the  hour  for  dinner,  Pennoyer  and 
Grief  thought  profoundly.  "  Thunder  and 
turf ! "  Grief  finally  announced  as  the  result  of 
his  deliberations. 

"  Well,  if  Billie  Hawker  was  only  home " 

began  Pennoyer. 

"But  he  isn't,"  objected  Wrinkles,  "and 
that  settles  that." 

Grief  and  Pennoyer  thought  more.  Ulti- 
mately Grief  said,  "  Oh,  well,  let's  eat  what 
we've  got."  The  others  at  once  agreed  to 
this  suggestion,  as  if  it  had  been  in  their 
minds. 

Later  there  came  a  quick  step  in  the  pas- 
sage and  a  confident  little  thunder  upon  the 
door.  Wrinkles  arranging  the  tin  pail  on  the 
gas  stove,  Pennoyer  engaged  in  slicing  the 


Il6  THE    THIRD   VIOLET. 

bread,  and  Great  Grief  affixing  the  rubber 
tube  to  the  gas  stove,  yelled,  "  Come  in  ! " 

The  door  opened,  and  Miss  Florinda 
O'Connor,  the  model,  dashed  into  the  room 
like  a  gale  of  obstreperous  autumn  leaves. 

"  Why,  hello,  Splutter !  "  they  cried. 

"  Oh,  boys,  I've  come  to  dine  with  you." 

It  was  like  a  squall  striking  a  fleet  of 
yachts. 

Grief  spoke  first.  "  Yes,  you  have  ? "  he 
said  incredulously. 

"Why,  certainly  I  have.  What's  the 
matter?" 

They  grinned.  "  Well,  old  lady,"  respond- 
ed Grief,  "you've  hit  us  at  the  wrong  time. 
We  are,  in  fact,  all  out  of  everything.  No 
dinner,  to  mention,  and,  what's  more,  we 
haven't  got  a  sou." 

"  What  ?     Again  ?  "  cried  Florinda. 

"Yes,  again.  You'd  better  dine  home  to- 
night." 

"But  I'll— I'll  stake  you,"  said  the  girl 
eagerly.  "  Oh,  you  poor  old  idiots !  It's  a 
shame!  Say,  I'll  stake  you." 

"  Certainly  not,"  said  Pennoyer  sternly. 

"  What    are    you    talking    about,    Splut- 


THE   THIRD  VIOLET. 

ter  ?  "  demanded  Wrinkles  in  an  angry 
voice. 

"  No,  that  won't  go  down,"  said  Grief,  in  a 
resolute  yet  wistful  tone. 

Florinda  divested  herself  of  her  hat,  jacket, 
and  gloves,  and  put  them  where  she  pleased. 
"Got  coffee,  haven't  you?  Well,  I'm  not 
going  to  stir  a  step.  You're  a  fine  lot  of 
birds ! "  she  added  bitterly.  "  You've  all  pulled 
me  out  of  a  whole  lot  of  scrape — oh,  any  num- 
ber of  times — and  now  you're  broke,  you  go 
acting  like  a  set  of  dudes." 

Great  Grief  had  fixed  the  coffee  to  boil  on 
the  gas  stove,  but  he  had  to  watch  it  closely, 
for  the  rubber  tube  was  short,  and  a  chair  was 
balanced  on  a  trunk,  and  two  bundles  of  kin- 
dling was  balanced  on  the  chair,  and  the  gas 
stove  was  balanced  on  the  kindling.  Coffee- 
making  was  here  accounted  a  feat. 

Pennoyer  dropped  a  piece  of  bread  to 
the  floor.  "  There !  I'll  have  to  go  shy 
one." 

Wrinkles  sat  playing  serenades  on  his 
guitar  and  staring  with  a  frown  at  the  table, 
as  if  he  was  applying  some  strange  method  of 
clearing  it  of  its  litter. 


ng  THE   THIRD  VIOLET. 

Florinda  assaulted  Great  Grief.  "  Here, 
that's  not  the  way  to  make  coffee !  " 

"What  ain't?" 

"  Why,  the  way  you're  making  it.  You 

want  to  take "  She  explained  some  way 

to  him  which  he  couldn't  understand. 

"  For  heaven's  sake,  Wrinkles,  tackle  that 
table !  Don't  sit  there  like  a  music  box,"  said 
Pennoyer,  grappling  the  eggs  and  starting  for 
the  gas  stove. 

Later,  as  they  sat  around  the  board,  Wrin- 
kles said  with  satisfaction,  "  Well,  the  coffee's 
good,  anyhow." 

"'Tis  good,"  said  Florinda,  "but  it  isn't 
made  right.  I'll  show  you  how,  Penny.  You 
first " 

"  Oh,  dry  up,  Splutter,"  said  Grief.  "  Here, 
take  an  egg." 

"  I  don't  like  eggs,"  said  Florinda. 

"  Take  an  egg,"  said  the  three  hosts 
menacingly. 

"  I  tell  you  I  don't  like  eggs." 

"  Take — an — egg  !  "  they  said  again. 

"Oh,  well,"  said  Florinda,  "I'll  take  one, 
then ;  but  you  needn't  act  like  such  a  set  of 
dudes — and,  oh,  maybe  you  didn't  have  much 


THE    THIRD   VIOLET.  119 

lunch.  I  had  such  a  daisy  lunch !  Up  at 
Pontiac's  studio.  He's  got  a  lovely  studio." 

The  three  looked  to  be  oppressed.  Grief 
said  sullenly,  "  I  saw  some  of  his  things  over 
in  Stencil's  gallery,  and  they're  rotten." 

"  Yes — rotten,"  said  Pennoyer. 

"  Rotten,"  said  Grief. 

"  Oh,  well,"  retorted  Florinda,  "  if  a  man 
has  a  swell  studio  and  dresses — oh,  sort  of  like 
a  Willie,  you  know,  you  fellows  sit  here  like 
owls  in  a  cave  and  say  rotten — rotten— rotten. 
You're  away  off.  Pontiac's  landscapes " 

"  Landscapes  be  blowed  !  Put  any  of  his 
work  alongside  of  Billie  Hawker's  and  see 
how  it  looks." 

"  Oh,  well,  Billie  Hawker's,"  said  Florinda. 
"  Oh,  well." 

At  the  mention  of  Hawker's  name  they 
had  all  turned  to  scan  her  face. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

"  HE  wrote  that  he  was  coming  home  this 
week,"  said  Pennoyer. 

"  Did  he  ?  "  asked  Florinda  indifferently. 

"  Yes.     Aren't  you  glad  ?  " 

They  were  still  watching  her  face. 

"  Yes,  of  course  I'm  glad.  Why  shouldn't 
I  be  glad  ?  "  cried  the  girl  with  defiance. 

They  grinned. 

"  Oh,  certainly.  Billie  Hawker  is  a  good 
fellow,  Splutter.  You  have  a  particular  right 
to  be  glad." 

"  You  people  make  me  tired,"  Florinda  re- 
torted. "  Billie  Hawker  doesn't  give  a  rap 
about  me,  and  he  never  tried  to  make  out  that 
he  did." 

"  No,"  said  Grief.  "  But  that  isn't  saying 
that  you  don't  care  a  rap  about  Billie  Hawker. 
Ah,  Florinda ! " 

It  seemed  that  the  girl's  throat  suffered  a 

I2O 


THE   THIRD  VIOLET.  I2j 

slight  contraction.  "  Well,  and  what  if  I  do?" 
she  demanded  finally. 

"  Have  a  cigarette  ? "  answered  Grief. 

Florinda  took  a  cigarette,  lit  it,  and,  perch- 
ing herself  on  a  divan,  which  was  secretly  a 
coal  box,  she  smoked  fiercely. 

"What  if  I  do?"  she  again  demanded. 
"  It's  better  than  liking  one  of  you  dubs,  any- 
how." 

"  Oh,  Splutter,  you  poor  little  outspoken 
kid  !  "  said  Wrinkle  in  a  sad  voice. 

Grief  searched  among  the  pipes  until  he 
found  the  best  one.  "  Yes,  Splutter,  don't 
you  know  that  when  you  are  so  frank  you 
defy  every  law  of  your  sex,  and  wild  eyes  will 
take  your  trail  ?  " 

"  Oh,  you  talk  through  your  hat,"  replied 
Florinda.  "  Billie  don't  care  whether  I  like 
him  or  whether  I  don't.  And  if  he  should 
hear  me  now,  he  wouldn't  be  glad  or  give  a 
hang,  either  way.  I  know  that."  The  girl 
paused  and  looked  at  the  row  of  plaster  casts. 
"  Still,  you  needn't  be  throwing  it  at  me  all 
the  time." 

"We  didn't,"  said  Wrinkles  indignantly. 
"  You  threw  it  at  yourself." 


122  THE   THIRD  VIOLET. 

"Well,"  continued  Florinda,  "it's  better 
than  liking  one  of  you  dubs,  anyhow.  He 
makes  money  and " 

"  There,"  said  Grief,  "  now  you've  hit  it ! 
Bedad,  you've  reached  a  point  in  eulogy 
where  if  you  move  again  you  will  have  to  go 
backward." 

"  Of  course  I  don't  care  anything  about  a 
fellow's  having  money " 

"  No,  indeed  you  don't,  Splutter,"  said 
Pennoyer. 

"  But  then,  you  know  what  I  mean.  A 
fellow  isn't  a  man  and  doesn't  stand  up 
straight  unless  he  has  some  money.  And 
Billie  Hawker  makes  enough  so  that  you  feel 
that  nobody  could  walk  over  him,  don't  you 
know?  And  there  isn't  anything  jay  about 
him,  either.  He's  a  thoroughbred,  don't  you 
know  ?  " 

After  reflection,  Pennoyer  said,  "  It's 
pretty  hard  on  the  rest  of  us,  Splutter." 

"  Well,  of  course  I  like  him,  but— but " 

"  What  ? "  said  Pennoyer. 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Florinda. 

Purple  Sanderson  lived  in  this  room,  but 
he  usually  dined  out.  At  a  certain  time  in  his 


THE   THIRD   VIOLET. 


123 


life,  before  he  came  to  be  a  great  artist,  he 
had  learned  the  gas-fitter's  trade,  and  when 
his  opinions  were  not  identical  with  the  opin- 
ions of  the  art  managers  of  the  greater  num- 
ber of  New  York  publications  he  went  to  see 
a  friend  who  was  a  plumber,  and  the  opinions 
of  this  man  he  was  thereafter  said  to  respect. 
He  frequented  a  very  neat  restaurant  on 
Twenty-third  Street.  It  was  known  that  on 
Saturday  nights  Wrinkles,  Grief,  and  Pen- 
noyer  frequently  quarreled  with  him. 

As  Florinda  ceased  speaking  Purple  en- 
tered. "  Hello,  there,  Splutter !  "  As  he  was 
neatly  hanging  up  his  coat,  he  said  to  the  oth- 
ers, "  Well,  the  rent  will  be  due  in  four  days." 

"Will  it?"  asked  Pennoyer,  astounded. 

"Certainly  it  will,"  responded  Purple, 
with  the  air  of  a  superior  financial  man. 

"  My  soul !  "  said  Wrinkles. 

"  Oh,  shut  up,  Purple  !  "  said  Grief.  "  You 
make  me  weary,  coming  around  here  with 
your  chin  about  rent.  I  was  just  getting 
happy." 

"Well,  how  are  we  going  to  pay  it? 
That's  the  point,"  said  Sanderson. 

Wrinkles   sank   deeper    in    his   chair  and 


124 


THE    THIRD   VIOLET. 


played  despondently  on  his  guitar.  Grief 
cast  a  look  of  rage  at  Sanderson,  and  then 
stared  at  the  wall.  Pennoyer  said,  "  Well,  we 
might  borrow  it  from  Billie  Hawker." 

Florinda  laughed  then. 

"  Oh,"  continued  Pennoyer  hastily,  "  if 
those  Amazement  people  pay  me  when  they 
said  they  would  I'll  have  the  money." 

"So  you  will,"  said  Grief.  "You  will 
have  money  to  burn.  Did  the  Amazement  peo- 
ple ever  pay  you  when  they  said  they  would  ? 
You  are  wonderfully  important  all  of  a  sud- 
den, it  seems  to  me.  You  talk  like  an  artist." 

Wrinkles,  too,  smiled  at  Pennoyer.  "  The 
Eminent  Magazine  people  wanted  Penny  to 
hire  models  and  make  a  try  for  them,  too.  It 
would  only  cost  him  a  stack  of  blues.  By  the 
time  he  has  invested  all  his  money  he  hasn't 
got,  and  the  rent  is  three  weeks  overdue, 
he  will  be  able  to  tell  the  landlord  to  wait 
seven  months  until  the  Monday  morning  after 
the  day  of  publication.  Go  ahead,  Penny." 

After  a  period  of  silence,  Sanderson,  in  an 
obstinate  manner,  said,  "  Well,  what's  to  be 
done  ?  The  rent  has  got  to  be  paid." 

Wrinkles  played  more   sad   music.     Grief 


THE    THIRD   VIOLET. 


125 


frowned  deeper.  Pennoyer  was  evidently 
searching  his  mind  for  a  plan. 

Florinda  took  the  cigarette  from  between 
her  lips  that  she  might  grin  with  greater 
freedom. 

"  We  might  throw  Purple  out,"  said  Grief, 
with  an  inspired  air.  "  That  would  stop  all 
this  discussion." 

"  You !  "  said  Sanderson  furiously.  "  You 
can't  keep  serious  a  minute.  If  you  didn't 
have  us  to  take  care  of  you,  you  wouldn't 
even  know  when  they  threw  you  out  into  the 
street." 

"  Wouldn't  I  ?  "  said  Grief. 

"Well,  look  here,"  interposed  Florinda, 
"  I'm  going  home  unless  you  can  be  more 
interesting.  I  am  dead  sorry  about  the  rent, 
but  I  can't  help  it,  and " 

"  Here !  Sit  down  !  Hold  on,  Splutter !  " 
they  shouted.  Grief  turned  to  Sanderson : 
"  Purple,  you  shut  up  !  " 

Florinda  curled  again  on  the  divan  and  lit 
another  cigarette.  The  talk  waged  about  the 
names  of  other  and  more  successful  painters, 
whose  work  they  usually  pronounced  "rot- 
ten." 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

PENNOYER,  coming  home  one  morning 
with  two  gigantic  cakes  to  accompany  the 
coffee  at  the  breakfast  in  the  den,  saw  a  young 
man  bounce  from  a  horse  car.  He  gave  a 
shout.  "  Hello,  there,  Billie  !  Hello !  " 

"  Hello,  Penny  !  "  said  Hawker.  "  What 
are  you  doing  out  so  early  ?  "  It  was  some- 
what after  nine  o'clock. 

"  Out  to  get  breakfast,"  said  Pennoyer, 
waving  the  cakes.  "  Have  a  good  time,  old 
man?" 

"  Great." 

"Do  much  work?" 

"  No.  Not  so  much.  How  are  all  the 
people?" 

"  Oh,  pretty  good.  Come  in  and  see  us 
eat  breakfast,"  said  Pennoyer,  throwing  open 
the  door  of  the  den.  Wrinkles,  in  his  shirt, 

was  making  coffee.     Grief  sat  in  a  chair  try- 
126 


THE  THIRD  VIOLET. 

ing  to  loosen  the  grasp  of  sleep.  "  Why, 
Billie  Hawker,  b'ginger ! "  they  cried. 

"  How's  the  wolf,  boys  ?  At  the  door 
yet?" 

"'At  the  door  yet?'  He's  halfway  up 
the  back  stairs,  and  coming  fast.  He  and  the 
landlord  will  be  here  to-morrow.  '  Mr.  Land- 
lord, allow  me  to  present  Mr.  F.  Wolf,  of 
Hunger,  N.  J.  Mr.  Wolf— Mr.  Landlord.'" 

"Bad  as  that?"  said  Hawker. 

"  You  bet  it  is  !  Easy  Street  is  somewhere 
in  heaven,  for  all  we  know.  Have  some  break- 
fast ? — coffee  and  cake,  I  mean." 

"  No,  thanks,  boys.     Had  breakfast." 

Wrinkles  added  to  the  shirt,  Grief  aroused 
himself,  and  Pennoyer  brought  the  coffee. 
Cheerfully  throwing  some  drawings  from  the 
table  to  the  floor,  they  thus  made  room  for 
the  breakfast,  and  grouped  themselves  with 
beaming  smiles  at  the  board. 

"  Well,  Billie,  come  back  to  the  old  gang 
again,  eh  ?  How  did  the  country  seem  ?  Do 
much  work  ?  " 

"  Not  very  much.  A  few  things.  How's 
everybody  ?  " 

"  Splutter  was  in  last  night.     Looking  out 


!28  THE   THIRD  VIOLET. 

of  sight.  Seemed  glad  to  hear  that  you  were 
coming  back  soon." 

"  Did  she  ?  Penny,  did  anybody  call  want- 
ing me  to  do  a  ten-thousand-dollar  portrait  for 
them  ?  " 

"  No.  That  frame  -  maker,  though,  was 
here  with  a  bill.  I  told  him " 

Afterward  Hawker  crossed  the  corridor  and 
threw  open  the  door  of  his  own  large  studio. 
The  great  skylight,  far  above  his  head,  shed 
its  clear  rays  upon  a  scene  which  appeared  to 
indicate  that  some  one  had  very  recently 
ceased  work  here  and  started  for  the  country. 
A  distant  closet  door  was  open,  and  the  in- 
terior showed  the  effects  of  a  sudden  pillage. 

There  was  an  unfinished  "  Girl  in  Apple 
Orchard "  upon  the  tall  Dutch  easel,  and 
sketches  and  studies  were  thick  upon  the 
floor.  Hawker  took  a  pipe  and  filled  it  from 
his  friend  the  tan  and  gold  jar.  He  cast  him- 
self into  a  chair  and,  taking  an  envelope  from 
his  pocket,  emptied  two  violets  from  it  to  the 
palm  of  his  hand  and  stared  long  at  them. 
Upon  the  walls  of  the  studio  various  labours 
of  his  life,  in  heavy  gilt  frames,  contemplated 
him  and  the  violets. 


THE  THIRD  VIOLET.  129 

At  last  Pennoyer  burst  impetuously  in 

upon  him.  "  Hi,  Billie !  come  over  and 

What's  the  matter?" 

Hawker  had  hastily  placed  the  violets  in 
the  envelope  and  hurried  it  to  his  pocket. 
"  Nothing,"  he  answered. 

"Why,  I  thought—"  said  Pennoyer,  "I 
thought  you  looked  rather  rattled.  Didn't 
you  have — I  thought  I  saw  something  in  your 
hand." 

"Nothing,  I  tell  you!"  cried  Hawker. 

"  Er — oh,  I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  Pen- 
noyer. "  Why,  I  was  going  to  tell  you  that 
Splutter  is  over  in  our  place,  and  she  wants  to 
see  you." 

"  Wants  to  see  me  ?  What  for?  "  demanded 
Hawker.  "  Why  don't  she  come  over  here, 
then?" 

"  I'm  sure  I  don't  know,"  replied  Pennoyer. 
"  She  sent  me  to  call  you." 

"Well,  do  you  think  I'm  going  to Oh, 

well,  I  suppose  she  wants  to  be  unpleasant,  and 
knows  she  loses  a  certain  mental  position  if  she 
comes  over  here,  but  if  she  meets  me  in  your 
place  she  can  be  as  infernally  disagreeable  as 
she That's  it,  I'll  bet." 


130  THE   THIRD  VIOLET. 

When  they  entered  the  den  Florinda  was 
gazing  from  the  window.  Her  back  was 
toward  the  door. 

At  last  she  turned  to  them,  holding  herself 
very  straight.  "  Well,  Billie  Hawker,"  she 
said  grimly,  "you  don't  seem  very  glad  to 
see  a  fellow." 

"  Why,  heavens,  did  you  think  I  was  going 
to  turn  somersaults  in  the  air  ?  " 

"  Well,  you  didn't  come  out  when  you 
heard  me  pass  your  door,"  said  Florinda,  with 
gloomy  resentment. 

Hawker  appeared  to  be  ruffled  and  vexed. 
"  Oh,  great  Scott !  "  he  said,  making  a  gesture 
of  despair. 

Florinda  returned  to  the  window.  In  the 
ensuing  conversation  she  took  no  part,  save 
when  there  was  an  opportunity  to  harry 
some  speech  of  Hawker's,  which  she  did  in 
short  contemptuous  sentences.  Hawker  made 
no  reply  save  to  glare  in  her  direction.  At 
last  he  said,  "  Well,  I  must  go  over  and  do 
some  work."  Florinda  did  not  turn  from  the 
window.  "  Well,  so-long,  boys,"  said  Haw- 
ker, "  I'll  see  you  later." 

As  the  door  slammed  Pennoyer  apologet- 


THE   THIRD  VIOLET.  131 

ically  said,  "  Billie  is  a  trifle  off  his  feed  this 
morning." 

"  What  about  ?  "  asked  Grief. 

"  I  don't  know ;  but  when  I  went  to  call 
him  he  was  sitting  deep  in  his  chair  staring 

at  some "  He  looked  at  Florinda  and 

became  silent. 

"Staring  at  what?  "asked  Florinda,  turn- 
ing then  from  the  window. 

Pennoyer  seemed  embarrassed.  "  Why,  I 
don't  know — nothing,  I  guess — I  couldn't  see 
very  well.  I  was  only  fooling." 

Florinda  scanned  his  face  suspiciously. 
"  Staring  at  what  ? "  she  demanded  impera- 
tively. 

"  Nothing,  I  tell  you  !  "  shouted  Pennoyer. 

Florinda  looked  at  him,  and  wavered  and 
debated.  Presently  she  said,  softly :  "  Ah,  go 
on,  Penny.  Tell  me." 

"It  wasn't  anything  at  all,  I  say!"  cried 
Pennoyer  stoutly.  "  I  was  only  giving  you  a 
jolly.  Sit  down,  Splutter,  and  hit  a  ciga- 
rette." 

She  obeyed,  but  she  continued  to  cast  the 
dubious  eye  at  Pennoyer.  Once  she  said  to 
him  privately :  "  Go  on,  Penny,  tell  me.  I 


I32  THE   THIRD  VIOLET. 

know  it  was  something  from  the  way  you 
are  acting." 

"  Oh,  let  up,  Splutter,  for  heaven's  sake  ! " 

"  Tell  me,'*  beseeched  Florinda. 

"  No." 

"Tell  me." 

«  No." 

"Pl-e-a-se  tell  me." 

"  No." 

"Oh,  go  on." 

"  No." 

"  Ah,  what  makes  you  so  mean,  Penny  ? 
You  know  I'd  tell  you,  if  it  was  the  other  way 
about." 

"  But  it's  none  of  my  business,  Splutter. 
I  can't  tell  you  something  which  is  Billie 
Hawker's  private  affair.  If  I  did  I  would  be 
a  chump." 

"  But  I'll  never  say  you  told  me.    Go  on." 

"  No." 

"Pl-e-a-se  tell  me." 

"  No." 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

WHEN  Florinda  had  gone,  Grief  said, 
"Well,  what  was  it?"  Wrinkles  looked 
curiously  from  his  drawing-board. 

Pennoyer  lit  his  pipe  and  held  it  at  the 
side  of  his  mouth  in  the  manner  of  a  delib- 
erate man.  At  last  he  said,  "  It  was  two 
violets." 

"  You  don't  say !  "  ejaculated  Wrinkles. 

"  Well,  I'm  hanged  !  "  cried  Grief.  "  Hold- 
ing  them  in  his  hand  and  moping  over  them, 
eh?" 

"  Yes,"  responded  Pennoyer.  "  Rather 
that  way." 

"  Well,  I'm  hanged  ! "  said  both  Grief  and 
Wrinkles.  They  grinned  in  a  pleased,  urchin- 
like  manner.  "  Say,  who  do  you  suppose  she 
is  ?  Somebody  he  met  this  summer,  no  doubt. 
Would  you  ever  think  old  Billie  would  get 
into  that  sort  of  a  thing  ?  Well,  I'll  be  gol- 

durned  !  " 

133 


134 


THE    THIRD   VIOLET. 


Ultimately  Wrinkles  said,  "Well,  it's  his 
own  business."  This  was  spoken  in  a  tone  of 
duty. 

"  Of  course  it's  his  own  business,"  retorted 

Grief.  "  But  who  would  ever  think " 

Again  they  grinned. 

When  Hawker  entered  the  den  some  min- 
utes later  he  might  have  noticed  something  un- 
usual in  the  general  demeanour.  "  Say,  Grief, 

will  you  loan  me  your What's  up?"  he 

asked. 

For  answer  they  grinned  at  each  other, 
and  then  grinned  at  him. 

"You  look  like  a  lot  of  Chessy  cats,"  he 
told  them. 

They  grinned  on. 

Apparently  feeling  unable  to  deal  with 
these  phenomena,  he  went  at  last  to  the  door. 
"  Well,  this  is  a  fine  exhibition,"  he  said,  stand- 
ing with  his  hand  on  the  knob  and  regarding 
them.  "  Won  election  bets  ?  Some  good  old 
auntie  just  died?  Found  something  new  to 
pawn?  No?  Well,  I  can't  stand  this.  You 
resemble  those  fish  they  discover  at  deep  sea. 
Good-bye ! " 

As  he  opened   the   door  they  cried  out: 


THE   THIRD   VIOLET.  135 

11  Hold  on,  Billie  !  Billie,  look  here !  Say, 
who  is  she?  " 

"What?" 

"Who  is  she?" 

"Who  is  who?" 

They  laughed  and  nodded.  "Why,  you 
know.  She.  Don't  you  understand  ?  She." 

"You  talk  like  a  lot  of  crazy  men,"  said 
Hawker.  "  I  don't  know  what  you  mean." 

"  Oh,  you  don't,  eh  ?  You  don't  ?  Oh,  no ! 
How  about  those  violets  you  were  moping 
over  this  morning?  Eh,  old  man!  Oh,  no, 
you  don't  know  what  we  mean!  Oh,  no! 
How  about  those  violets,  eh?  How  about 
'em?" 

Hawker,  with  flushed  and  wrathful  face, 

looked  at  Pennoyer.  "  Penny "  But 

Grief  and  Wrinkles  roared  an  interruption. 
"  Oh,  ho,  Mr.  Hawker !  so  it's  true,  is  it  ? 
It's  true.  You  are  a  nice  bird,  you  are. 
Well,  you  old  rascal  !  Durn  your  pic- 
ture ! " 

Hawker,  menacing  them  once  with  his 
eyes,  went  away.  They  sat  cackling. 

At  noon,  when  he  met  Wrinkles  in  the 
corridor,  he  said :  "  Hey,  Wrinkles,  come  here 


THE   THIRD  VIOLET. 

for  a  minute,  will  you?  Say,  old  man,  I — 
I " 

"What? "said  Wrinkles. 

"  Well,  you  know,  I — I — of  course,  every 
man  is  likely  to  make  an  accursed  idiot  of 
himself  once  in  a  while,  and  I " 

"And  you  what?"  asked  Wrinkles. 

"  Well,  we  are  a  kind  of  a  band  of  hood- 
lums, you  know,  and  I'm  just  enough  idiot  to 
feel  that  I  don't  care  to  hear — don't  care  to 
hear — well,  her  name  used,  you  know." 

"  Bless  your  heart,"  replied  Wrinkles, 
"  we  haven't  used  her  name.  We  don't 
know  her  name.  How  could  we  use  it?" 

"  Well,  I  know,"  said  Hawker.  "  But  you 
understand  what  I  mean,  Wrinkles." 

"  Yes,  I  understand  what  you  mean,"  said 
Wrinkles,  with  dignity.  "  I  don't  suppose 
you  are  any  worse  of  a  stuff  than  common. 
Still,  I  didn't  know  that  we  were  such  out- 
laws." 

"Of  course,  I  have  overdone  the  thing," 
responded  Hawker  hastily.  "  But — you 
ought  to  understand  how  I  mean  it,  Wrin- 
kles." 

After  Wrinkles  had  thought  for  a  time,  he 


THE   THIRD  VIOLET.  137 

said :  "  Well,  I  guess  I  do.  All  right.  That 
goes." 

Upon  entering  the  den,  Wrinkles  said, 
"  You  fellows  have  got  to  quit  guying  Billie, 
do  you  hear?" 

"  We  ?  "  cried  Grief.  "  We've  got  to  quit  ? 
What  do  you  do  ?  " 

"Well,  I  quit  too." 

Pennoyer  said:  "Ah,  ha!  Billie  has  been 
jumping  on  you." 

"No,  he  didn't,"  maintained  Wrinkles; 
"  but  he  let  me  know  it  was — well,  rather  a — 
rather  a— sacred  subject."  Wrinkles  blushed 
when  the  others  snickered. 

In  the  afternoon,  as  Hawker  was  going 
slowly  down  the  stairs,  he  was  almost  impaled 
upon  the  feather  of  a  hat  which,  upon  the 
head  of  a  lithe  and  rather  slight  girl,  charged 
up  at  him  through  the  gloom. 

"Hello,  Splutter!"  he  cried.  "You  are 
in  a  hurry." 

"  That  you,  Billie  ? "  said  the  girl,  peering, 
for  the  hallways  of  this  old  building  remained 
always  in  a  dungeonlike  darkness. 

"  Yes,  it  is.  Where  are  you  going  at  such 
a  headlong  gait?" 


138  THE    THIRD   VIOLET. 

"  Up  to  see  the  boys.  I've  got  a  bottle  of 
wine  and  some — some  pickles,  you  know. 
I'm  going  to  make  them  let  me  dine  with 
them  to-night.  Coming  back,  Billie  ?  " 

"  Why,  no,  I  don't  expect  to." 

He  moved  then  accidentally  in  front  of  the 
light  that  sifted  through  the  dull,  gray  panes 
of  a  little  window. 

"  Oh,  cracky  !  "  cried  the  girl ;  "  how 
fine  you  are,  Billie  !  Going  to  a  coronation  ?  " 

"No,"  said  Hawker,  looking  seriously 
over  his  collar  and  down  at  his  clothes. 
"Fact  is— er— well,  I've  got  to  make  a 
call." 

"A  call — bless  us!  And  are  you  really 
going  to  wear  those  gray  gloves  you're  hold- 
ing there,  Billie?  Say,  wait  until  you  get 
around  the  corner.  They  won't  stand  'em  on 
this  street." 

"  Oh,  well,"  said  Hawker,  depreciating  the 
gloves — "  oh,  well." 

The  girl  looked  up  at  him.  "  Who  you 
going  to  call  on  ?" 

"  Oh,"  said  Hawker,  "a  friend." 

"  Must  be  somebody  most  extraordinary, 
you  look  so  dreadfully  correct.  Come  back, 


THE  THIRD   VIOLET.  139 

Billie,  won't  you  ?  Come  back  and  dine  with 
us." 

"  Why,  I— I  don't  believe  I  can." 

"  Oh,  come  on  !  It's  fun  when  we  all  dine 
together.  Won't  you,  Billie  ?  " 

«  Well,  I " 

"  Oh,  don't  be  so  stupid ! "  The  girl 
stamped  her  foot  and  flashed  her  eyes  at 
him  angrily. 

"Well,  I'll  see— I  will  if  I  can— I  can't 
tell "  He  left  her  rather  precipitately. 

Hawker  eventually  appeared  at  a  certain 
austere  house  where  he  rang  the  bell  with 
quite  nervous  fingers. 

But  she  was  not  at  home.  As  he  went 
down  the  steps  his  eyes  were  as  those  of  a 
man  whose  fortunes  have  tumbled  upon  him. 
As  he  walked  down  the  street  he  wore  in 
some  subtle  way  the  air  of  a  man  who  has 
been  grievously  wronged.  When  he  rounded 
the  corner,  his  lips  were  set  strangely,  as  if  he 
were  a  man  seeking  revenge. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

"  IT'S  just  right,"  said  Grief. 

"  It  isn't  quite  cool  enough,"  said  Wrin- 
kles. 

"  Well,  I  guess  I  know  the  proper  tem- 
perature for  claret." 

"  Well,  I  guess  you  don't.  If  it  was 
buttermilk,  now,  you  would  know,  but  you 
can't  tell  anything  about  claret." 

Florinda  ultimately  decided  the  question. 
"  It  isn't  quite  cool  enough,"  she  said,  laying 
her  hand  on  the  bottle.  "  Put  it  on  the  win- 
dow ledge,  Grief." 

"  Hum !  Splutter,  I  thought  you  knew 
more  than " 

"  Oh,  shut  up !  "  interposed  the  busy  Pen- 
noyer  from  a  remote  corner.  "  Who  is  going 
after  the  potato  salad  ?  That's  what  I  want  to 
know.  Who  is  going  ?  " 

"  Wrinkles,"  said  Grief. 

"  Grief,"  said  Wrinkles. 
140 


THE  THIRD  VIOLET.  I4I 

"There,"  said  Pennoyer,  coming  forward 
and  scanning  a  late  work  with  an  eye  of  satis- 
faction. "There's  the  three  glasses  and  the 
little  tumbler ;  and  then,  Grief,  you  will  have 
to  drink  out  of  a  mug." 

"  I'll  be  double-dyed  black  if  I  will !  "  cried 
Grief.  "  I  wouldn't  drink  claret  out  of  a  mug 
to  save  my  soul  from  being  pinched  !  " 

"You  duffer,  you  talk  like  a  bloomin' 
British  chump  on  whom  the  sun  never  sets ! 
What  do  you  want?  " 

"  Well,  there's  enough  without  that — 
what's  the  matter  with  you?  Three  glasses 
and  the  little  tumbler." 

"  Yes,  but  if  Billie  Hawker  comes " 

"  Well,  let  him  drink  out  of  the  mug,  then. 
He " 

"  No,  he  won't,"  said  Florinda  suddenly. 
"  I'll  take  the  mug  myself." 

"All  right,  Splutter,"  rejoined  Grief 
meekly.  "I'll  keep  the  mug.  But,  still,  I 
don't  see  why  Billie  Hawker " 

"I  shall  take  the  mug,"  reiterated  Flo- 
rinda firmly. 

"  But  I  don't  see  why " 

"Let    her    alone,   Grief,"    said    Wrinkles. 

10 


I42  THE   THIRD  VIOLET. 

"  She  has  decided  that  it  is  heroic.  You  can't 
move  her  now." 

"Well,  who  is  going  for  the  potato  salad?" 
cried  Pennoyer  again.  "  That's  what  I  want 
to  know." 

"Wrinkles,"  said  Grief. 

"  Grief,"  said  Wrinkles. 

"  Do  you  know,"  remarked  Florinda,  rais- 
ing her  head  from  where  she  had  been  toiling 
over  the  spaghetti,  "  I  don't  care  so  much  for 
Billie  Hawker  as  I  did  once  ?  "  Her  sleeves 
were  rolled  above  the  elbows  of  her  wonder- 
ful arms,  and  she  turned  from  the  stove  and 
poised  a  fork  as  if  she  had  been  smitten  at  her 
task  with  this  inspiration. 

There  was  a  short  silence,  and  then  Wrin- 
kles said  politely,  "  No." 

"  No,"  continued  Florinda,  "  I  really  don't 
believe  I  do."  She  suddenly  started.  "  Listen! 
Isn't  that  him  coming  now  ?  " 

The  dull  trample  of  a  step  could  be  heard 
in  some  distant  corridor,  but  it  died  slowly  to 
silence. 

"  I  thought  that  might  be  him,"  she  said, 
turning  to  the  spaghetti  again. 

"  I  hope  the  old  Indian  comes,"  said  Pen- 


THE   THIRD   VIOLET. 


143 


noyer,  "but  I  don't  believe  he  will.  Seems 
to  me  he  must  be  going  to  see— 

"  Who?  "  asked  Florinda. 

"  Well,  you  know,  Hollanden  and  he  usu- 
ally dine  together  when  they  are  both  in 
town." 

Florinda  looked  at  Pennoyer.  "  I  know, 
Penny.  You  must  have  thought  I  was  re- 
markably clever  not  to  understand  all  your 
blundering.  But  I  don't  care  so  much. 
Really  I  don't." 

"  Of  course  not,"  assented  Pennoyer. 

"  Really  I  don't." 

"  Of  course  not." 

"Listen!"  exclaimed  Grief,  who  was  near 
the  door.  "  There  he  comes  now."  Some- 
body approached,  whistling  an  air  from  "Tra- 
viata,"  which  rang  loud  and  clear,  and  low  and 
muffled,  as  the  whistler  wound  among  the 
intricate  hallways.  This  air  was  as  much  a 
part  of  Hawker  as  his  coat.  The  spaghetti  had 
arrived  at  a  critical  stage.  Florinda  gave  it 
her  complete  attention. 

When  Hawker  opened  the  door  he  ceased 
whistling  and  said  gruffly,  "  Hello !  " 

"  Just  the  man  !  "   said  Grief.     "  Go  after 


144  THE  THIRD  VIOLET. 

the  potato  salad,  will  you,  Billie?  There's  a 
good  boy  !  Wrinkles  has  refused." 

"He  can't  carry  the  salad  with  those 
gloves,"  interrupted  Florinda,  raising  her 
eyes  from  her  work  and  contemplating  them 
with  displeasure. 

"  Hang  the  gloves !  "  cried  Hawker,  drag- 
ging them  from  his  hands  and  hurling  them 
at  the  divan.  "  What's  the  matter  with  you, 
Splutter?" 

Pennoyer  said,  "  My,  what  a  temper  you 
are  in,  Billie  !  " 

"  I  am,"  replied  Hawker.  "  I  feel  like  an 
Apache.  Where  do  you  get  this  accursed 
potato  salad  ?  " 

"  In  Second  Avenue.  You  know  where. 
At  the  old  place." 

"  No,  I  don't ! "  snapped  Hawker. 

-  Why " 

"  Here,"  said  Florinda,  "  I'll  go."  She  had 
already  rolled  down  her  sleeves  and  was  ar- 
raying herself  in  her  hat  and  jacket. 

"  No,  you  won't,"  said  Hawker,  filled  with 
wrath.  "  I'll  go  myself." 

"  We  can  both  go,  Billie,  if  you  are  so 
bent,"  replied  the  girl  in  a  conciliatory  voice. 


THE  THIRD  VIOLET.  145 

"  Well,  come  on,  then.  What  are  you 
standing  there  for  ?  " 

When  these  two  had  departed,  Wrinkles 
said  :  "  Lordie  !  What's  wrong  with  Billie  ?  " 

"  He's  been  discussing  art  with  some  pot- 
boiler," said  Grief,  speaking  as  if  this  was  the 
final  condition  of  human  misery. 

"  No,  sir,"  said  Pennoyer.  "  It's  something 
connected  with  the  now  celebrated  violets." 

Out  in  the  corridor  Florinda  said,  "  What 
— what  makes  you  so  ugly,  Billie  ?  " 

"  Why,  I  am  not  ugly,  am  I  ?  " 

"  Yes,  you  are — ugly  as  anything." 

Probably  he  saw  a  grievance  in  her  eyes, 
for  he  said,  "  Well,  I  don't  want  to  be  ugly." 
His  tone  seemed  tender.  The  halls  were  in- 
tensely dark,  and  the  girl  placed  her  hand  on 
his  arm.  As  they  rounded  a  turn  in  the  stairs 
a  straying  lock  of  her  hair  brushed  against 
his  temple.  "  Oh  ! "  said  Florinda,  in  a  low 
voice. 

"  We'll  get  some  more  claret,"  observed 
Hawker  musingly.  "And  some  cognac  for 
the  coffee.  And  some  cigarettes.  Do  you 
think  of  anything  more,  Splutter?" 

As  they  came  from  the  shop  of  the  illus- 


146 


THE   THIRD  VIOLET. 


trious  purveyors  of  potato  salad  in  Second 
Avenue,  Florinda  cried  anxiously,  "  Here, 
Billie,  you  let  me  carry  that !  " 

"  What  infernal  nonsense  !  "  said  Hawker, 
flushing.  "  Certainly  not !  " 

"  Well/'  protested  Florinda,  "  it  might  soil 
your  gloves  somehow." 

"  In  heaven's  name,  what  if  it  does  ?  Say, 
young  woman,  do  you  think  I  am  one  of  these 
cholly  boys  ?  " 

"  No,  Billie ;  but  then,  you  know " 

"  Well,  if  you  don't  take  me  for  some  kind 
of  a  Willie,  give  us  peace  on  this  blasted  glove 
business ! " 

"  I  didn't  mean " 

"  Well,  you've  been  intimating  that  I've 
got  the  only  pair  of  gray  gloves  in  the  uni- 
verse, but  you  are  wrong.  There  are  several 
pairs,  and  these  need  not  be  preserved  as 
unique  in  history." 

"  They're  not  gray.     They're " 

"  They  are  gray  !  I  suppose  your  distin- 
guished ancestors  in  Ireland  did  not  educate 
their  families  in  the  matter  of  gloves,  and  so 
you  are  not  expected  to " 

"  Billie !  " 


THE  THIRD  VIOLET.  147 

"  You  are  not  expected  to  believe  that 
people  wear  gloves  only  in  cold  weather,  and 
then  you  expect  to  see  mittens." 

On  the  stairs,  in  the  darkness,  he  suddenly 
exclaimed,  "  Here,  look  out,  or  you'll  fall !  " 
He  reached  for  her  arm,  but  she  evaded  him. 
Later  he  said  again  :  "  Look  out,  girl !  What 
makes  you  stumble  around  so?  Here,  give 
me  the  bottle  of  wine.  I  can  carry  it  all  right. 
There — now  can  you  manage  ?  " 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

"  PENNY,"  said  Grief,  looking  across  the 
table  at  his  friend,  "  if  a  man  thinks  a  heap 
of  two  violets,  how  much  would  he  think  of 
a  thousand  violets  ?  " 

"  Two  into  a  thousand  goes  five  hundred 
times,  you  fool !  "  said  Pennoyer.  "  I  would 
answer  your  question  if  it  were  not  upon  a 
forbidden  subject." 

In  the  distance  Wrinkles  and  Florinda 
were  making  Welsh  rarebits. 

"  Hold  your  tongues ! "  said  Hawker. 
"  Barbarians ! " 

"  Grief,"  said  Pennoyer,  "  if  a  man  loves 
a  woman  better  than  the  whole  universe, 
how  much  does  he  love  the  whole  universe  ? " 

"Gawd  knows,"  said  Grief  piously. 
"Although  it  ill  befits  me  to  answer  your 
question." 

Wrinkles    and    Florinda    came    with    the 

Welsh  rarebits,  very  triumphant.    "  There," 
148 


THE   THIRD  VIOLET. 


149 


said  Florinda,  "soon  as  these  are  finished 
I  must  go  home.  It  is  after  eleven  o'clock. 
—Pour  the  ale,  Grief." 

At  a  later  time,  Purple  Sanderson  entered 
from  the  world.  He  hung  up  his  hat  and  cast 
a  look  of  proper  financial  dissatisfaction  at  the 
remnants  of  the  feast.  <l  Who  has  been " 

"  Before  you  breathe,  Purple,  you  grace- 
less scum,  let  me  tell  you  that  we  will  stand 
no  reference  to  the  two  violets  here,"  said 
Pennoyer. 

"  What  the " 

"  Oh,  that's  all  right,  Purple,"  said  Grief, 
"  but  you  were  going  to  say  something  about 
the  two  violets,  right  then.  Weren't  you, 
now,  you  old  bat?" 

Sanderson  grinned  expectantly.  "  What's 
the  row  ?  "  said  he. 

"  No  row  at  all,"  they  told  him.  "  Just  an 
agreement  to  keep  you  from  chattering  obsti- 
nately about  the  two  violets." 

"  What  two  violets  ?  " 

"  Have  a  rarebit,  Purple,"  advised  Wrin- 
kles, "  and  never  mind  those  maniacs." 

"  Well,  what  is  this  business  about  two 
violets?" 


150 


THE   THIRD  VIOLET. 


"  Oh,  it's  just  some  dream  .  They  gibber  at 
anything." 

"  I  think  I  know,"  said  Florinda,  nodding. 
"  It  is  something  that  concerns  Billie  Hawker." 

Grief  and  Pennoyer  scoffed,  and  Wrinkles 
said :  "  You  know  nothing  about  it,  Splut- 
ter. It  doesn't  concern  Biliie  Hawker  at 
all." 

"  Well,  then,  what  is  he  looking  sideways 
for?"  cried  Florinda. 

Wrinkles  reached  for  his  guitar,  and  played 
a  serenade,  "  The  silver  moon  is  shining " 

"  Dry  up ! "  said  Pennoyer. 

Then  Florinda  cried  again,  "  What  does 
he  look  sideways  for  ? " 

Pennoyer  and  Grief  giggled  at  the 
imperturbable  Hawker,  who  destroyed  rare- 
bit in  silence. 

"It's  you,  is  it,  Billie?"  said  Sanderson. 
"  You  are  in  this  two-violet  business  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  what  they're  talking  about," 
replied  Hawker. 

"  Don't  you,  honestly  ?  "  asked  Florinda. 

"  Well,  only  a  little." 

"There!"  said  Florinda,  nodding  again. 
"  I  knew  he  was  in  it." 


THE   THIRD  VIOLET.  j^j 

"  He  isn't  in  it  at  all,"  said  Pennoyer  and 
Grief. 

Later,  when  the  cigarettes  had  become 
exhausted,  Hawker  volunteered  to  go  after 
a  further  supply,  and  as  he  arose,  a  question 
seemed  to  come  to  the  edge  of  Florinda's 
lips  and  pend  there.  The  moment  that  the 
door  was  closed  upon  him  she  demanded, 
"  What  is  that  about  the  two  violets  ?  " 

"Nothing  at  all,"  answered  Pennoyer, 
apparently  much  aggrieved.  He  sat  back 
with  an  air  of  being  a  fortress  of  reticence. 

"  Oh,  go  on — tell  me !  Penny,  I  think  you 
are  very  mean. — Grief,  you  tell  me  !  " 

"  The  silver  moon  is  shining ; 

Oh,  come,  my  love,  to  me ! 
My  heart " 

"  Be  still,  Wrinkles,  will  you  ?— What  was 
it,  Grief  ?  Oh,  go  ahead  and  tell  me  ! " 

"What  do  you  want  to  know  for?"  cried 
Grief,  vastly  exasperated.  "  You've  got  more 

blamed  curiosity It  isn't  anything  at  all,  I 

keep  saying  to  you." 

"  Well,  I  know  it  is,"  said  Florinda  sul- 
lenly, "  or  you  would  tell  me." 


152  THE   THIRD  VIOLET. 

When  Hawker  brought  the  cigarettes, 
Florinda  smoked  one,  and  then  announced, 
"  Well,  I  must  go  now." 

"  Who  is  going  to  take  you  home, 
Splutter?" 

"  Oh,  anyone,"  replied  Florinda. 

"I  tell  you  what,"  said  Grief,  "  we'll 
throw  some  poker  hands,  and  the  one  who 
wins  will  have  the  distinguished  honour  of 
conveying  Miss  Splutter  to  her  home  and 
mother." 

Pennoyer  and  Wrinkles  speedily  routed 
the  dishes  to  one  end  of  the  table.  Grief's 
fingers  spun  the  halves  of  a  pack  of  cards 
together  with  the  pleased  eagerness  of  a  good 
player.  The  faces  grew  solemn  with  the 
gambling  solemnity.  "  Now,  you  Indians," 
said  Grief,  dealing,  "a  draw,  you  under- 
stand, and  then  a  show-down." 

Florinda  leaned  forward  in  her  chair  until 
it  was  poised  on  two  legs.  The  cards  of 
Purple  Sanderson  and  of  Hawker  were  faced 
toward  her.  Sanderson  was  gravely  regard- 
ing two  pair — aces  and  queens.  Hawker 
scanned  a  little  pair  of  sevens.  "  They  draw, 
don't  they  ?  "  she  said  to  Grief. 


THE   THIRD  VIOLET.  153 

"Certainly,"  said  Grief.  "How  many, 
Wrink?" 

"  Four,"  replied  Wrinkles,  plaintively. 

11  Gimme  three,"  said  Pennoyer. 

"  Gimme  one,"  said  Sanderson. 

"  Gimme  three,"  said  Hawker.  When  he 
picked  up  his  hand  again  Florinda's  chair 
was  tilted  perilously.  She  saw  another  seven 
added  to  the  little  pair.  Sanderson's  draw 
had  not  assisted  him. 

"  Same  to  the  dealer,"  said  Grief.  "  What 
you  got,  Wrink  ?  " 

"Nothing,"  said  Wrinkles,  exhibiting  it 
face  upward  on  the  table.  "Good-bye, 
Florinda." 

"  Well,  I've  got  two  small  pair,"  ventured 
Pennoyer  hopefully.  "  Beat  'em  ?  " 

"  No  good,"  said  Sanderson.  "  Two  pair 
— aces  up." 

"No     good,"     said     Hawker.        "Three 

sevens." 

"  Beats  me,"  said  Grief.  "  Billie,  you  are 
the  fortunate  man.  Heaven  guide  you  in 
Third  Avenue ! " 

Florinda  had  gone  to  the  window.  "  Who 
won?"  she  asked,  wheeling  about  carelessly. 


154  THE  THIRD  VIOLET. 

"  Billie  Hawker." 

"  What !     Did  he  ?  "  she  said  in  surprise. 

"  Never  mind,  Splutter.  I'll  win  some- 
time," said  Pennoyer.  "  Me  too,"  cried  Grief. 
"  Good  night,  old  girl !  "  said  Wrinkles.  They 
crowded  in  the  doorway.  "  Hold  on  to 
Billie.  Remember  the  two  steps  going  up," 
Pennoyer  called  intelligently  into  the  Stygian 
blackness.  "  Can  you  see  all  right? " 

Florinda  lived  in  a  flat  with  fire-escapes 
written  all  over  the  front  of  it.  The  street  in 
front  was  being  repaired.  It  had  been  said 
by  imbecile  residents  of  the  vicinity  that  the 
paving  was  never  allowed  to  remain  down  for 
a  sufficient  time  to  be  invalided  by  the  tramp- 
ing millions,  but  that  it  was  kept  perpetually 
stacked  in  little  mountains  through  the  un- 
ceasing vigilance  of  a  virtuous  and  heroic  city 
government,  which  insisted  that  everything 
should  be  repaired.  The  alderman  for  the 
district  had  sometimes  asked  indignantly  of 
his  fellow-members  why  this  street  had  not 
been  repaired,  and  they,  aroused,  had  at  once 
ordered  it  to  be  repaired.  Moreover,  shop- 
keepers, whose  stables  were  adjacent,  placed 


THE  THIRD  VIOLET.  ^5 

trucks  and  other  vehicles  strategically  in  the 
darkness.  Into  this  tangled  midnight 
Hawker  conducted  Florinda.  The  great 
avenue  behind  them  was  no  more  than  a 
level  stream  of  yellow  light,  and  the  distant 
merry  bells  might  have  been  boats  floating 
down  it.  Grim  loneliness  hung  over  the  un- 
couth shapes  in  the  street  which  was  being 
repaired. 

"Billie,"  said  the  girl  suddenly,  "what 
makes  you  so  mean  to  me?" 

A  peaceful  citizen  emerged  from  behind 
a  pile  of  ddbris,  but  he  might  not  have  been 
a  peaceful  citizen,  so  the  girl  clung  to 
Hawker. 

"  Why,  I'm  not  mean  to  you,  am  I  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  she  answered.  As  they  stood  on 
the  steps  of  the  flat  of  innumerable  fire- 
escapes  she  slowly  turned  and  looked  up  at 
him.  Her  face  was  of  a  strange  pallour  in  this 
darkness,  and  her  eyes  were  as  when  the 
moon  shines  in  a  lake  of  the  hills. 

He  returned  her  glance.  "  Florinda !  "  he 
cried,  as  if  enlightened,  and  gulping  suddenly 
at  something  in  his  throat.  The  girl  studied 
the  steps  and  moved  from  side  to  side,  as 


156  THE   THIRD  VIOLET. 

do  the  guilty  ones  in  country  schoolhouses. 
Then  she  went  slowly  into  the  flat. 

There  was  a  little  red  lamp  hanging  on  a 
pile  of  stones  to  warn  people  that  the  street 
was  being  repaired. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

"  I'LL  get  my  check  from  the  Gamin  on 
Saturday,"  said  Grief.  "  They  bought  that 
string  of  comics." 

"  Well,  then,  we'll  arrange  the  present 
funds  to  last  until  Saturday  noon,"  said 
Wrinkles.  "  That  gives  us  quite  a  lot.  We 
can  have  a  table  d'hdte  on  Friday  night." 

However,  the  cashier  of  the  Gamin  office 
looked  under  his  respectable  brass  wiring  and 
said :  "  Very  sorry,  Mr. — er — Warwickson, 
but  our  pay-day  is  Monday.  Come  around 
any  time  after  ten." 

"  Oh,  it  doesn't  matter,"  said  Grief. 

When  he  plunged  into  the  den  his  visage 
flamed  with  rage.  "  Don't  get  my  check  until 
Monday  morning,  any  time  after  ten ! "  he 
yelled,  and  flung  a  portfolio  of  mottled  green 
into  the  danger  zone  of  the  casts. 

"  Thunder ! "  said  Pennoy er,  sinking  at  once 

into  a  profound  despair. 
ii  157 


158  THE   THIRD  VIOLET. 

"  Monday  morning,  any  time  after  ten," 
murmured  Wrinkles,  in  astonishment  and 
sorrow. 

While  Grief  marched  to  and  fro  threat- 
ening the  furniture,  Pennoyer  and  Wrinkles 
allowed  their  under  jaws  to  fall,  and  remained 
as  men  smitten  between  the  eyes  by  the  god 
of  calamity. 

"  Singular  thing !  "  muttered  Pennoyer  at 
last.  "  You  get  so  frightfully  hungry  as  soon 
as  you  learn  that  there  are  no  more  meals 
coming." 

«  Oh,  well "  said  Wrinkles.  He  took 

up  his  guitar. 

Oh,  some  folks  say  dat  a  niggah  won'  steal, 
'Way  down  yondeh  in  d'  cohn'-fiel' ; 

But  Ah  caught  two  in  my  cohn'-fiel', 
Way  down  yondeh  in  d'  cohn'-fiel'. 

"  Oh,  let  up ! "  said  Grief,  as  if  unwilling  to 
be  moved  from  his  despair. 

"  Oh,  let  up ! "  said  Pennoyer,  as  if  he  dis- 
liked the  voice  and  the  ballad. 

In  his  studio,  Hawker  sat  braced  nervously 
forward  on  a  little  stool  before  his  tall  Dutch 
easel.  Three  sketches  lay  on  the  floor  near 


THE   THIRD  VIOLET. 

him,  and  he  glared  at  them  constantly  while 
painting  at  the  large  canvas  on  the  easel. 

He  seemed  engaged  in  some  kind  of  a 
duel.  His  hair  dishevelled,  his  eyes  gleam- 
ing, he  was  in  a  deadly  scuffle.  In  the 
sketches  was  the  landscape  of  heavy  blue, 
as  if  seen  through  powder-smoke,  and  all  the 
skies  burned  red.  There  was  in  these  notes 
a  sinister  quality  of  hopelessness,  eloquent  of 
a  defeat,  as  if  the  scene  represented  the  last 
hour  on  a  field  of  disastrous  battle.  Hawker 
seemed  attacking  with  this  picture  something 
fair  and  beautiful  of  his  own  life,  a  possession 
of  his  mind,  and  he  did  it  fiercely,  mercilessly, 
formidably.  His  arm  moved  with  the  energy 
of  a  strange  wrath.  He  might  have  been 
thrusting  with  a  sword. 

There  was  a  knock  at  the  door.  "  Come 
in."  Pennoyer  entered  sheepishly.  "  Well  ?  " 
cried  Hawker,  with  an  echo  of  savagery  in  his 
voice.  He  turned  from  the  canvas  precisely 
as  one  might  emerge  from  a  fight.  "  Oh  !  " 
he  said,  perceiving  Pennoyer.  The  glow  in 
his  eyes  slowly  changed.  "  What  is  it,  Pen- 
ny?" 

"  Billie,"  said  Pennoyer,  "  Grief  was  to  get 


l6o  THE   THIRD  VIOLET. 

his  check  to-day,  but  they  put  him  off  until 
Monday,  and  so,  you  know — er — well " 

"  Oh  !  "  said  Hawker  again. 

When  Pennoyer  had  gone  Hawker  sat 
motionless  before  his  work.  He  stared  at  the 
canvas  in  a  meditation  so  profound  that  it 
was  probably  unconscious  of  itself. 

The  light  from  above  his  head  slanted 
more  and  more  toward  the  east. 

Once  he  arose  and  lighted  a  pipe.  He 
returned  to  the  easel  and  stood  staring  with 
his  hands  in  his  pockets.  He  moved  like  one 
in  a  sleep.  Suddenly  the  gleam  shot  into  his 
eyes  again.  He  dropped  to  the  stool  and 
grabbed  a  brush.  At  the  end  of  a  certain 
long,  tumultuous  period  he  clinched  his  pipe 
more  firmly  in  his  teeth  and  puffed  strongly. 
The  thought  might  have  occurred  to  him 
that  it  was  not  alight,  for  he  looked  at  it  with 
a  vague,  questioning  glance.  There  came 
another  knock  at  the  door.  "  Go  to  the 
devil !  "  he  shouted,  without  turning  his  head. 

Hollanden  crossed  the  corridor  then  to 
the  den. 

"  Hi,  there,  Hollie  !  Hello,  boy !  Just  the 
fellow  we  want  to  see.  Come  in — sit  down — 


THE   THIRD  VIOLET.  161 

hit  a  pipe.  Say,  who  was  the  girl  Billie 
Hawker  went  mad  over  this  summer?" 

"  Blazes  !  "  said  Hollander!,  recovering 
slowly  from  this  onslaught.  "  Who — what — 
how  did  you  Indians  find  it  out?" 

"Oh,  we  tumbled!"  they  cried  in  delight, 
"  we  tumbled." 

"  There  !  "  said  Hollanden,  reproaching 
himself.  "And  I  thought  you  were  such  a 
lot  of  blockheads." 

"  Oh,  we  tumbled  !  "  they  cried  again  in 
their  ecstasy.  "  But  who  is  she  ?  That's  the 
point." 

"  Well,  she  was  a  girl." 

"  Yes,  go  on." 

"A  New  York  girl." 

"  Yes." 

"  A  perfectly  stunning  New  York  girl." 

"  Yes.     Go  ahead." 

"  A  perfectly  stunning  New  York  girl  of  a 
very  wealthy  and  rather  old-fashioned  family." 

"  Well,  I'll  be  shot !  You  don't  mean  it ! 
She  is  practically  seated  on  top  of  the  Matter- 
horn.  Poor  old  Billie !  " 

"  Not  at  all,"  said  Hollanden  composedly. 

It  was  a  common  habit  of  Purple  Sander- 


!62  THE   THIRD  VIOLET. 

son  to  call  attention  at  night  to  the  resemblance 
of  the  den  to  some  little  ward  in  a  hospital. 
Upon  this  night,  when  Sanderson  and  Grief 
were  buried  in  slumber,  Pennoyer  moved 
restlessly.  "  Wrink ! "  he  called  softly  into  the 
darkness  in  the  direction  of  the  divan  which 
was  secretly  a  coal-box. 

"What?"  said  Wrinkles  in  a  surly  voice. 
His  mind  had  evidently  been  caught  at  the 
threshold  of  sleep. 

"  Do  you  think  Florinda  cares  much  for 
Billie  Hawker?" 

Wrinkles  fretted  through  some  oaths. 
"How  in  thunder  do  I  know?"  The  divan 
creaked  as  he  turned  his  face  to  the  wall. 

"  Well "  muttered  Pennoyer. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

THE  harmony  of  summer  sunlight  on  leaf 
and  blade  of  green  was  not  known  to  the  two 
windows,  which  looked  forth  at  an  obviously 
endless  building  of  brownstone  about  which 
there  was  the  poetry  of  a  prison.  Inside, 
great  folds  of  lace  swept  down  in  orderly 
cascades,  as  water  trained  to  fall  mathemat- 
ically. The  colossal  chandelier,  gleaming  like 
a  Siamese  headdress,  caught  the  subtle  flashes 
from  unknown  places. 

Hawker  heard  a  step  and  the  soft  swishing 
of  a  woman's  dress.  He  turned  toward  the 
door  swiftly,  with  a  certain  dramatic  impul- 
siveness. But  when  she  entered  the  room  he 
said,  "  How  delighted  I  am  to  see  you 
again !  " 

She  had  said,  "  Why,  Mr.  Hawker,  it  was 
so  charming  in  you  to  come  !  " 

It  did  not  appear  that  Hawker's  tongue 

could  wag  to  his  purpose.    The  girl  seemed 
163 


164  THE   THIRD   VIOLET. 

in  her  mind  to  be  frantically  shuffling  her 
pack  of  social  receipts  and  finding-  none  of 
them  made  to  meet  this  situation.  Finally, 
Hawker  said  that  he  thought  Hearts  at  War 
was  a  very  good  play. 

"Did  you?"  she  said  in  surprise.  "I 
thought  it  much  like  the  others." 

"Well,  so  did  I,"  he  cried  hastily— "  the 
same  figures  moving  around  in  the  mud  of 
modern  confusion.  I  really  didn't  intend  to 
say  that  I  liked  it.  Fact  is,  meeting  you 
rather  moved  me  out  of  my  mental  track." 

"  Mental  track  ?  "  she  said.  "  I  didn't 
know  clever  people  had  mental  tracks.  I 
thought  it  was  a  privilege  of  the  theolo- 
gians." 

"  Who  told  you  I  was  clever  ? "  he  de- 
manded. 

"  Why,"  she  said,  opening  her  eyes  wider, 
"  nobody." 

Hawker  smiled  and  looked  upon  her  with 
gratitude.  "  Of  course,  nobody.  There 
couldn't  be  such  an  idiot.  I  am  sure  you 
should  be  astonished  to  learn  that  I  believed 
such  an  imbecile  existed.  But " 

"  Oh !  "  she  said. 


THE   THIRD  VIOLET.  165 

"  But  I  think  you  might  have  spoken  less 
bluntly." 

"  Well,"  she  said,  after  wavering  for  a  time, 
"  you  are  clever,  aren't  you  ?  " 

"  Certainly,"  he  answered  reassuringly. 

"  Well,  then  ?  "  she  retorted,  with  triumph 
in  her  tone.  And  this  interrogation  was  ap- 
parently to  her  the  final  victorious  argument. 

At  his  discomfiture  Hawker  grinned. 

"  You  haven't  asked  news  of  Stanley,"  he 
said.  "  Why  don't  you  ask  news  of  Stanley  ?  " 

"  Oh  !  and  how  was  he  ?  " 

"  The  last  I  saw  of  him  he  stood  down  at 
the  end  of  the  pasture — the  pasture,  you  know 
— wagging  his  tail  in  blissful  anticipation  of 
an  invitation  to  come  with  me,  and  when  it 
finally  dawned  upon  him  that  he  was  not  to 
receive  it,  he  turned  and  went  back  toward 
the  house  '  like  a  man  suddenly  stricken  with 
age,'  as  the  story-tellers  eloquently  say.  Poor 
old  dog !  " 

"  And  you  left  him  ?  "  she  said  reproach- 
fully. Then  she  asked,  "  Do  you  remember 
how  he  amused  you  playing  with  the  ants  at 
the  falls?" 

"  No." 


1 66  THE  THIRD  VIOLET. 

"  Why,  he  did.  He  pawed  at  the  moss, 
and  you  sat  there  laughing.  I  remember  it 
distinctly." 

"  You  remember  distinctly  ?  Why,  I 
thought — well,  your  back  was  turned,  you 
know.  Your  gaze  was  fixed  upon  something 
before  you,  and  you  were  utterly  lost  to  the 
rest  of  the  world.  You  could  not  have  known 
if  Stanley  pawed  the  moss  and  I  laughed. 
So,  you  see,  you  are  mistaken.  As  a  matter 
of  fact,  I  utterly  deny  that  Stanley  pawed  the 
moss  or  that  I  laughed,  or  that  any  ants  ap- 
peared at  the  falls  at  all." 

"  I  have  always  said  that  you  should  have 
been  a  Chinese  soldier  of  fortune,"  she  ob- 
served musingly.  "  Your  daring  and  inge- 
nuity would  be  prized  by  the  Chinese." 

"  There  are  innumerable  tobacco  jars  in 
China,"  he  said,  measuring  "the  advantages. 
"  Moreover,  there  is  no  perspective.  You 
don't  have  to  walk  two  miles  to  see  a  friend. 
No.  He  is  always  there  near  you,  so  that  you 
can't  move  a  chair  without  hitting  your  dis- 
tant friend.  You " 

"  Did  Hollie  remain  as  attentive  as  ever  to 
the  Worcester  girls  ?  " 


THE   THIRD   VIOLET.  ify 

"Yes,  of  course,  as  attentive  as  ever. 
He  dragged  me  into  all  manner  of  tennis 
games " 

"  Why,  I  thought  you  loved  to  play  ten- 
nis ?  " 

"  Oh,  well,"  said  Hawker,  "  I  did  until  you 
left." 

"  My  sister  has  gone  to  the  park  with  the 
children.  I  know  she  will  be  vexed  when  she 
finds  that  you  have  called." 

Ultimately  Hawker  said,  "  Do  you  re- 
member our  ride  behind  my  father's  oxen  ?  " 

"  No,"  she  answered  ;  "  I  had  forgotten  it 
completely.  Did  we  ride  behind  your  father's 
oxen  ?  " 

After  a  moment  he  said :  "  That  remark 
would  be  prized  by  the  Chinese.  We  did. 
And  you  most  graciously  professed  to  enjoy 
it,  which  earned  my  deep  gratitude  and  admi- 
ration. For  no  one  knows  better  than  I,"  he 
added  meekly,  "  that  it  is  no  great  comfort  or 
pleasure  to  ride  behind  my  father's  oxen." 

She  smiled  retrospectively.  "  Do  you  re- 
member how  the  people  on  the  porch  hurried 
to  the  railing?" 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

NEAR  the  door  the  stout  proprietress  sat 
intrenched  behind  the  cash-box  in  a  Parisian 
manner.  She  looked  with  practical  amiabil- 
ity at  her  guests,  who  dined  noisily  and  with 
great  fire,  discussing  momentous  problems 
furiously,  making  wide,  maniacal  gestures 
through  the  cigarette  smoke.  Meanwhile  the 
little  handful  of  waiters  ran  to  and  fro  wildly. 
Imperious  and  importunate  cries  rang  at  them 
from  all  directions.  "  Gustave  !  Adolphe  !  " 
Their  faces  expressed  a  settled  despair.  They 
answered  calls,  commands,  oaths  in  a  semi- 
distraction,  fleeting  among  the  tables  as  if 
pursued  by  some  dodging  animal.  Their 
breaths  came  in  gasps.  If  they  had  been  con- 
vict labourers  they  could  not  have  surveyed 
their  positions  with  countenances  of  more  un- 
speakable injury.  Withal,  they  carried  in- 
credible masses  of  dishes  and  threaded  their 
ways  with  skill.  They  served  people  with 

168 


THE   THIRD  VIOLET.  169 

such  speed  and  violence  that  it  often  resem- 
bled a  personal  assault.  They  struck  two 
blows  at  a  table  and  left  there  a  knife  and  fork. 
Then  came  the  viands  in  a  volley.  The  clat- 
ter of  this  business  was  loud  and  bewilder- 
ingly  rapid,  like  the  gallop  of  a  thousand 
horses. 

In  a  remote  corner  a  band  of  mandolins 
and  guitars  played  the  long,  sweeping,  mad 
melody  of  a  Spanish  waltz.  It  seemed  to  go 
tingling  to  the  hearts  of  many  of  the  diners. 
Their  eyes  glittered  with  enthusiasm,  with 
abandon,  with  deviltry.  They  swung  their 
heads  from  side  to  side  in  rhythmic  move- 
ment. High  in  air  curled  the  smoke  from 
the  innumerable  cigarettes.  The  long,  black 
claret  bottles  were  in  clusters  upon  the  tables. 
At  an  end  of  the  hall  two  men  with  maudlin 
grins  sang  the  waltz  uproariously,  but  always 
a  trifle  belated. 

An  unsteady  person,  leaning  back  in  his 
chair  to  murmur  swift  compliments  to  a 
woman  at  another  table,  suddenly  sprawled 
out  upon  the  floor.  He  scrambled  to  his  feet, 
and,  turning  to  the  escort  of  the  woman,  heat- 
edly blamed  him  for  the  accident.  They  ex- 


THE   THIRD  VIOLET. 

changed  a  series  of  tense,  bitter  insults,  which 
spatted  back  and  forth  between  them  like  pel- 
lets. People  arose  from  their  chairs  and 
stretched  their  necks.  The  musicians  stood 
in  a  body,  their  faces  turned  with  expressions 
of  keen  excitement  toward  this  quarrel,  but 
their  fingers  still  twinkling  over  their  instru- 
ments, sending  into  the  middle  of  this  turmoil 
the  passionate,  mad,  Spanish  music.  The  pro- 
prietor of  the  place  came  in  agitation  and 
plunged  headlong  into  the  argument,  where 
he  thereafter  appeared  as  a  frantic  creature 
harried  to  the  point  of  insanity,  for  they  buried 
him  at  once  in  long,  vociferous  threats,  expla- 
nations, charges,  every  form  of  declamation 
known  to  their  voices.  The  music,  the  noise 
of  the  galloping  horses,  the  voices  of  the 
brawlers,  gave  the  whole  thing  the  quality  of 
war. 

There  were  two  men  in  the  cafe  who 
seemed  to  be  tranquil.  Hollanden  carefully 
stacked  one  lump  of  sugar  upon  another  in 
the  middle  of  his  saucer  and  poured  cognac 
over  them.  He  touched  a  match  to  the 
cognac  and  the  blue  and  yellow  flames  eddied 
in  the  saucer.  "  I  wonder  what  those  two 


THE  THIRD  VIOLET.  j^r 

fools  are  bellowing  at  ? "  he  said,  turning 
about  irritably. 

"  Hanged  if  I  know  !  "  muttered  Hawker  in 
reply.  "  This  place  makes  me  weary,  any- 
how. Hear  the  blooming  din  !  " 

"  What's  the  matter  ? "  said  Hollanden. 
"  You  used  to  say  this  was  the  one  natural, 
the  one  truly  Bohemian,  resort  in  the  city. 
You  swore  by  it." 

"  Well,  I  don't  like  it  so  much  any  more." 

"  Ho  !  "  cried  Hollanden,  "  you're  getting 
correct — that's  it  exactly.  You  will  become 

one  of  these  intensely Look,  Billie,  the 

little  one  is  going  to  punch  him  !  " 

"  No,  he  isn't.  They  never  do,"  said  Haw- 
ker morosely.  "  Why  did  you  bring  me  here 
to-night,  Hollie  ?  " 

"  I  ?  I  bring  you  ?  Good  heavens,  I  came 
as  a  concession  to  you !  What  are  you  talk- 
ing about? — Hi!  the  little  one  is  going  to 
punch  him,  sure  !  " 

He  gave  the  scene  his  undivided  attention 
for  a  moment ;  then  he  turned  again  :  "  You 
will  become  correct.  I  know  you  will.  I 
have  been  watching.  You  are  about  to 
achieve  a  respectability  that  will  make  a  stone 


172  THE   THIRD   VIOLET. 

saint  blush  for  himself.  What's  the  matter 
with  you  ?  You  act  as  if  you  thought  falling 
in  love  with  a  girl  was  a  most  extraordinary 
circumstance. — I  wish  they  would  put  those 

people  out. — Of  course  I  know  that  you 

There !  The  little  one  has  swiped  at  him  at 
last ! " 

After  a  time  he  resumed  his  oration.  "  Of 
course,  I  know  that  you  are  not  reformed  in 
the  matter  of  this  uproar  and  this  remarkable 
consumption  of  bad  wine.  It  is  not  that.  It 
is  a  fact  that  there  are  indications  that  some 
other  citizen  was  fortunate  enough  to  possess 
your  napkin  before  you  ;  and,  moreover,  you 
are  sure  that  you  would  hate  to  be  caught  by 
your  correct  friends  with  any  such  consommt 
in  front  of  you  as  we  had  to-night.  You  have 
got  an  eye  suddenly  for  all  kinds  of  gilt.  You 
are  in  the  way  of  becoming  a  most  unbear- 
able person. — Oh,  look !  the  little  one  and  the 
proprietor  are  having  it  now. — You  are  in  the 
way  of  becoming  a  most  unbearable  person. 
Presently  many  of  your  friends  will  not  be  fine 
enough. — In  heaven's  name,  why  don't  they 
throw  him  out  ?  Are  you  going  to  howl  and 
gesticulate  there  all  night  ?  " 


THE  THIRD  VIOLET. 

"  Well,"  said  Hawker,  "  a  man  would  be  a 
fool  if  he  did  like  this  dinner." 

"  Certainly.  But  what  an  immaterial  part 
in  the  glory  of  this  joint  is  the  dinner !  Who 
cares  about  dinner  ?  No  one  comes  here  to 
eat ;  that's  what  you  always  claimed. — Well, 
there,  at  last  they  are  throwing  him  out.  I 
hope  he  lands  on  his  head. — Really,  you  know, 
Billie,  it  is  such  a  fine  thing  being  in  love  that 
one  is  sure  to  be  detestable  to  the  rest  of  the 
world,  and  that  is  the  reason  they  created  a 
proverb  to  the  other  effect.  You  want  to 
look  out." 

"  You  talk  like  a  blasted  old  granny  !  "  said 
Hawker.  "  Haven't  changed  at  all.  This 
place  is  all  right,  only " 

"  You  are  gone,"  interrupted  Hollanden  in 
a  sad  voice.  "It  is  very  plain — you  are 
gone." 


12 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

THE  proprietor  of  the  place,  having  pushed 
to  the  street  the  little  man,  who  may  have  been 
the  most  vehement,  came  again  and  resumed 
the  discussion  with  the  remainder  of  the  men  of 
war.  Many  of  these  had  volunteered,  and  they 
were  very  enduring. 

"  Yes,  you  are  gone,"  said  Hollanden,  with 
the  sobriety  of  graves  in  his  voice.  "  You  are 
gone. — "  Hi !  "  he  cried,  "  there  is  Lucian  Pon- 
tiac. — Hi,  Pontiac !  Sit  down  here." 

A  man  with  a  tangle  of  hair,  and  with  that 
about  his  mouth  which  showed  that  he  had 
spent  many  years  in  manufacturing  a  proper 
modesty  with  which  to  bear  his  greatness, 
came  toward  them,  smiling. 

"  Hello,  Pontiac!  "  said  Hollanden.  " Here's 
another  great  painter.  Do  you  know  Mr. 
Hawker  ? — Mr.  William  Hawker — Mr.  Pon- 
tiac." 

"  Mr.    Hawker— delighted,"   said    Pontiac. 
174 


THE  THIRD  VIOLET.  175 

"  Although  I  have  not  known  you  personally, 
I  can  assure  you  that  I  have  long  been  a  great 
admirer  of  your  abilities." 

The  proprietor  of  the  place  and  the  men  of 
war  had  at  length  agreed  to  come  to  an  amica- 
ble understanding.  They  drank  liquors,  while 
each  firmly,  but  now  silently,  upheld  his  dig- 
nity. 

"  Charming  place,"  said  Pontiac.  "  So  thor- 
oughly Parisian  in  spirit.  And  from  time  to 
time,  Mr.  Hawker,  I  use  one  of  your  models. 
Must  say  she  has  the  best  arm  and  wrist  in  the 
universe.  Stunning  figure — stunning  !  " 

"  You  mean  Florinda  ?  "  said  Hawker. 

"  Yes,  that's  the  name.  Very  fine  girl. 
Lunches  with  me  from  time  to  time  and  chat- 
ters so  volubly.  That's  how  I  learned  you 
posed  her  occasionally.  If 'the  models  didn't 
gossip  we  would  never  know  what  painters 
were  addicted  to  profanity.  Now  that  old 
Thorndike — he  told  me  you  swore  like  a  drill- 
sergeant  if  the  model  winked  a  finger  at  the 
critical  time.  Very  fine  girl,  Florinda.  And 
honest,  too — honest  as  the  devil.  Very  curi- 
ous thing.  Of  course  honesty  among  the  girl 
models  is  very  common,  very  common — quite 


176  THE  THIRD  VIOLET. 

universal  thing,  you  know — but  then  it  always 
strikes  me  as  being  very  curious,  very  curi- 
ous. I've  been  much  attracted  by  your  girl 
Florinda." 

"  My  girl  ?  "  said  Hawker. 

"  Well,  she  always  speaks  of  you  in  a  pro- 
prietary way,  you  know.  And  then  she  con- 
siders that  she  owes  you  some  kind  of  obedi- 
ence and  allegiance  and  devotion.  I  remem- 
ber last  week  I  said  to  her :  *  You  can  go  now. 
Come  again  Friday/  But  she  said :  '  I  don't 
think  I  can  come  on  Friday.  Billie  Hawker 
is  home  now,  and  he  may  want  me  then.'  Said 
I :  '  The  devil  take  Billie  Hawker !  He  hasn't 
engaged  you  for  Friday,  has  he  ?  Well,  then, 
I  engage  you  now.'  But  she  shook  her  head. 
No,  she  couldn't  come  on  Friday.  Billie 
Hawker  was  home,  and  he  might  want  her 
any  day.  '  Well,  then,'  said  I,  '  you  have  my 
permission  to  do  as  you  please,  since  you  are 
resolved  upon  it  anyway.  Go  to  your  Billie 
Hawker.'  Did  you  need  her  on  Friday  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Hawker. 

"  Well,  then,  the  minx,  I  shall  scold  her. 
Stunning  figure — stunning!  It  was  only  last 
week  that  old  Charley  Master  said  to  me 


THE  THIRD  VIOLET. 

mournfully :  '  There  are  no  more  good  models. 
Great  Scott !  not  a  one.'  '  You're  'way  off,  my 
boy,'  I  said  ;  '  there  is  one  good  model,'  and 
then  I  named  your  girl.  I  mean  the  girl  who 
claims  to  be  yours." 

"  Poor  little  beggar  !  "  said  Hollanden. 

"  Who?"  said  Pontiac. 

"  Florinda,"  answered  Hollanden.  "  I  sup- 
pose  " 

Pontiac  interrupted.  "  Oh,  of  course,  it  is 
too  bad.  Everything  is  too  bad.  My  dear 
sir,  nothing  is  so  much  to  be  regretted  as  the 
universe.  But  this  Florinda  is  such  a  sturdy 
young  soul !  The  world  is  against  her,  but, 
bless  your  heart,  she  is  equal  to  the  battle. 
She  is  strong  in  the  manner  of  a  little  child. 
Why,  you  don't  know  her.  She " 

"  I  know  her  very  well.'? 

"  Well,  perhaps  you  do,  but  for  my  part  I 
think  you  don't  appreciate  her  formidable 
character  and  stunning  figure — stunning  !  " 

"  Damn  it ! "  said  Hawker  to  his  coffee  cup, 
which  he  had  accidentally  overturned. 

"  Well,"  resumed  Pontiac,  "  she  is  a  stun- 
ning model,  and  I  think,  Mr.  Hawker,  you  are 
to  be  envied." 


i;8  THE   THIRD  VIOLET. 

"  Eh  ?  "  said  Hawker. 

"  I  wish  I  could  inspire  my  models  with 
such  obedience  and  devotion.  Then  I  would 
not  be  obliged  to  rail  at  them  for  being  late, 
and  have  to  badger  them  for  not  showing  up 
at  all.  She  has  a  beautiful  figure — beautiful." 


CHAPTER   XXIX. 

WHEN  Hawker  went  again  to  the  house  of 
the  great  window  she  looked  first  at  the  colos- 
sal chandelier,  and,  perceiving  that  it  had  not 
moved,  he  smiled  in  a  certain  friendly  and 
familiar  way. 

"  It  must  be  a  fine  thing,"  said  the  girl 
dreamily.  "  I  always  feel  envious  of  that  sort 
of  life." 

"What  sort  of  life?" 

"  Why — I  don't  know  exactly ;  but  there 
must  be  a  great  deal  of  freedom  about  it.  I 
went  to  a  studio  tea  once,  and " 

"  A  studio  tea  !  Merciful  heavens 

Go  on." 

"  Yes,  a  studio  tea.  Don't  you  like  them  ? 
To  be  sure,  we  didn't  know  whether  the  man 
could  paint  very  well,  and  I  suppose  you  think 
it  is  an  imposition  for  anyone  who  is  not  a 
great  painter  to  give  a  tea." 

"  Go  on." 

I79 


l8o  THE  THIRD  VIOLET. 

"  Well,  he  had  the  dearest  little  Japanese 
servants,  and  some  of  the  cups  came  from 
Algiers,  and  some  from  Turkey,  and  some 
from What's  the  matter?  " 

"  Go  on.     I'm  not  interrupting  you." 

"  Well,  that's  all ;  excepting  that  everything 
was  charming  in  colour,  and  I  thought  what  a 
lazy,  beautiful  life  the  man  must  lead,  loung- 
ing in  such  a  studio,  smoking  monogrammed 
cigarettes,  and  remarking  how  badly  all  the 
other  men  painted." 

"  Very  fascinating.     But " 

"  Oh !  you  are  going  to  ask  if  he  could 
draw.  I'm  sure  I  don't  know,  but  the  tea  that 
he  gave  was  charming." 

"  I  was  on  the  verge  of  telling  you  some- 
thing about  artist  life,  but  if  you  have  seen  a 
lot  of  draperies  and  drunk  from  a  cup  of 
Algiers,  you  know  all  about  it." 

"  You,  then,  were  going  to  make  it  some- 
thing very  terrible,  and  tell  how  young  paint- 
ers struggled,  and  all  that." 

"  No,  not  exactly.  But  listen :  I  suppose 
there  is  an  aristocracy  who,  whether  they 
paint  well  or  paint  ill,  certainly  do  give 
charming  teas,  as  you  say,  and  all  other  kinds 


THE   THIRD  VIOLET.  igl 

of  charming  affairs  too ;  but  when  I  hear  peo- 
ple talk  as  if  that  was  the  whole  life,  it  makes 
my  hair  rise,  you  know,  because  I  am  sure 
that  as  they  get  to  know  me  better  and  better 
they  will  see  how  I  fall  short  of  that  kind  of 
an  existence,  and  I  shall  probably  take  a  great 
tumble  in  their  estimation.  They  might  even 
conclude  that  I  can  not  paint,  which  would  be 
very  unfair,  because  I  can  paint,  you  know." 

"  Well,  proceed  to  arrange  my  point  of 
view,  so  that  you  sha'n't  tumble  in  my  estima- 
tion when  I  discover  that  you  don't  lounge  in 
a  studio,  smoke  monogrammed  cigarettes,  and 
remark  how  badly  the  other  men  paint." 

"  That's  it.  That's  precisely  what  I  wish 
to  do." 

"  Begin." 

"  Well,  in  the  first  place1 " 

"  In  the  first  place— what  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  started  to  study  when  I  was  very 
poor,  you  understand.  Look  here  !  I'm  telling 
you  these  things  because  I  want  you  to  know, 
somehow.  It  isn't  that  I'm  not  ashamed  of  it. 
Well,  I  began  very  poor,  and  I — as  a  matter 
of  fact — I — well,  I  earned  myself  over  half  the 
money  for  my  studying,  and  the  other  half  I 


1 82  THE   THIRD  VIOLET. 

bullied  and  badgered  and  beat  out  of  my  poor 
old  dad.  I  worked  pretty  hard  in  Paris,  and 
I  returned  here  expecting-  to  become  a  great 
painter  at  once.  I  didn't,  though.  In  fact,  I 
had  my  worst  moments  then.  It  lasted  for 
some  years.  Of  course,  the  faith  and  endur- 
ance of  my  father  were  by  this  time  worn  to  a 
shadow — this  time,  when  I  needed  him  the 
most.  However,  things  got  a  little  better  and 
a  little  better,  until  I  found  that  by  work- 
ing quite  hard  I  could  make  what  was  to 
me  a  fair  income.  That's  where  I  am  now, 
too." 

"  Why  are  you  so  ashamed  of  this  story  ?  " 

"  The  poverty." 

"  Poverty  isn't  anything  to  be  ashamed 
of." 

"  Great  heavens  !  Have  you  the  temerity 
to  get  off  that  old  nonsensical  remark  ?  Pov- 
erty is  everything  to  be  ashamed  of.  Did  you 
ever  see  a  person  not  ashamed  of  his  poverty  ? 
Certainly  not.  Of  course,  when  a  man  gets 
very  rich  he  will  brag  so  loudly  of  the  pov- 
erty of  his  youth  that  one  would  never  sup- 
pose that  he  was  once  ashamed  of  it.  But  he 


THE  THIRD  VIOLET.  183 

"  Well,  anyhow,  you  shouldn't  be  ashamed 
of  the  story  you  have  just  told  me." 

"  Why  not  ?  Do  you  refuse  to  allow  me 
the  great  right  of  being  like  other  men?" 

"  I  think  it  was — brave,  you  know." 

"  Brave  ?  Nonsense  !  Those  things  are  not 
brave.  Impression  to  that  effect  created  by 
the  men  who  have  been  through  the  mill  for 
the  greater  glory  of  the  men  who  have  been 
through  the  mill." 

"  I  don't  like  to  hear  you  talk  that  way.  It 
sounds  wicked,  you  know." 

"  Well,  it  certainly  wasn't  heroic.  I  can 
remember  distinctly  that  there  was  not  one 
heroic  moment." 

"  No,  but  it  was — it  was " 

"  It  was  what  ?  " 

"  Well,  somehow  I  like  k,  you  know." 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

"  THERE'S  three  of  them,"  said  Grief  in  a 
hoarse  whisper. 

"  Four,  I  tell  you !  "  said  Wrinkles  in  a  low, 
excited  tone. 

"  Four,"  breathed  Pennoyer  with  decision. 

They  held  fierce  pantomimic  argument. 
From  the  corridor  came  sounds  of  rustling 
dresses  and  rapid  feminine  conversation. 

Grief  had  kept  his  ear  to  the  panel  of  the 
door.  His  hand  was  stretched  back,  warning 
the  others  to  silence.  Presently  he  turned  his 
head  and  whispered,  "  Three." 

"  Four,"  whispered  Pennoyer  and  Wrin- 
kles. 

"  Hollie  is  there,  too,"  whispered  Grief. 
"  Billie  is  unlocking  the  door.  Now  they're 
going  in.  Hear  them  cry  out,  '  Oh,  isn't  it 
lovely  ! '  Jinks !  "  He  began  a  noiseless  dance 
about  the  room.  "  Jinks !  Don't  I  wish  I 

had    a   big    studio    and    a   little    reputation! 
184 


THE   THIRD  VIOLET.  185 

Wouldn't  I  have  my  swell  friends  come  to 
see  me,  and  wouldn't  I  entertain  'em ! "  He 
adopted  a  descriptive  manner,  and  with  his 
forefinger  indicated  various  spaces  of  the  wall. 
"  Here  is  a  little  thing  I  did  in  Brittany. 
Peasant  woman  in  sabots.  This  brown  spot 
here  is  the  peasant  woman,  and  those  two 
white  things  are  the  sabots.  Peasant  woman 
in  sabots,  don't  you  see  ?  Women  in  Brit- 
tany, of  course,  all  wear  sabots,  you  under- 
stand. Convenience  of  the  painters.  I  see 
you  are  looking  at  that  little  thing  I  did  in 
Morocco.  Ah,  you  admire  it  ?  Well,  not  so 
bad — not  so  bad.  Arab  smoking  pipe,  squat- 
ting in  doorway.  This  long  streak  here  is  the 
pipe.  Clever,  you  say  ?  Oh,  thanks !  You 
are  too  kind.  Well,  all  Arabs  do  that,  you 
know.  Sole  occupation.  Convenience  of  the 
painters.  Now,  this  little  thing  here  I  did  in 
Venice.  Grand  Canal,  you  know.  Gondolier 
leaning  on  his  oar.  Convenience  of  the  paint- 
ers. Oh,  yes,  American  subjects  are  well 
enough,  but  hard  to  find,  you  know — hard  to 
find.  Morocco,  Venice,  Brittany,  Holland — 
all  oblige  with  colour,  you  know — quaint  form 
— all  that.  We  are  so  hideously  modern  over 


1 86  THE   THIRD   VIOLET. 

here ;  and,  besides,  nobody  has  painted  us 
much.  How  the  devil  can  I  paint  America 
when  nobody  has  done  it  before  me  ?  My 
dear  sir,  are  you  aware  that  that  would  be 
originality  ?  Good  heavens !  we  are  not  aes- 
thetic, you  understand.  Oh,  yes,  some  good 
mind  comes  along  and  understands  a  thing 
and  does  it,  and  after  that  it  is  aesthetic.  Yes, 

of  course,  but  then — well Now,  here  is  a 

little  Holland  thing  of  mine  ;  it " 

The  others  had  evidently  not  been  heeding 
him.  "  Shut  up ! "  said  Wrinkles  suddenly. 
"  Listen  !  "  Grief  paused  his  harangue  and 
they  sat  in  silence,  their  lips  apart,  their  eyes 
from  time  to  time  exchanging  eloquent  mes- 
sages. A  dulled  melodious  babble  came  from 
Hawker's  studio. 

At  length  Pennoyer  murmured  wistfully, 
"  I  would  like  to  see  her." 

Wrinkles  started  noiselessly  to  his  feet. 
"  Well,  I  tell  you  she's  a  peach.  I  was  going 
up  the  steps,  you  know,  with  a  loaf  of  bread 
under  my  arm,  when  I  chanced  to  look  up  the 
street  and  saw  Billie  and  Hollanden  coming 
with  four  of  them." 

"  Three,"  said  Grief. 


THE   THIRD  VIOLET. 


I87 


"  Four ;  and  I  tell  you  I  scattered.  One 
of  the  two  with  Billie  was  a  peach — a  peach." 

"  O,  Lord  ! "  groaned  the  others  enviously. 
"  Billie's  in  luck." 

"How  do  you  know?"  said  Wrinkles. 
"  Billie  is  a  blamed  good  fellow,  but  that 
doesn't  say  she  will  care  for  him — more  likely 
that  she  won't." 

They  sat  again  in  silence,  grinning,  and 
listening  to  the  murmur  of  voices. 

There  came  the  sound  of  a  step  in  the  hall- 
way. It  ceased  at  a  point  opposite  the  door 
of  Hawker's  studio.  Presently  it  was  heard 
again.  Florinda  entered  the  den.  "  Hello ! " 
she  cried,  "  who  is  over  in  Billie' s  place  ?  I 
was  just  going  to  knock " 

They  motioned  at  her  violently.  "  Sh !  " 
they  whispered.  Their  countenances  were 
very  impressive. 

"  What's  the  matter  with  you  fellows  ? " 
asked  Florinda  in  her  ordinary  tone ;  where- 
upon they  made  gestures  of  still  greater  wild- 
ness.  "  S-s-sh  ! " 

Florinda  lowered  her  voice  properly. 
"  Who  is  over  there  ?  " 

"  Some  swells,"  they  whispered. 


1 88  THE   THIRD   VIOLET. 

Florinda  bent  her  head.  Presently  she 
gave  a  little  start.  "  Who  is  over  there  ? " 
Her  voice  became  a  tone  of  deep  awe. 
"She?" 

Wrinkles  and  Grief  exchanged  a  swift 
glance.  Pennoyer  said  gruffly,  "  Who  do 
you  mean  ?  " 

"  Why,"  said  Florinda,  "  you  know.  She. 
The— the  girl  that  Billie  likes." 

Pennoyer  hesitated  for  a  moment  and  then 
said  wrathfully  :  "  Of  course  she  is !  Who  do 
you  suppose?" 

"  Oh ! "  said  Florinda.  She  took  a  seat 
upon  the  divan,  which  was  privately  a  coal- 
box,  and  unbuttoned  her  jacket  at  the  throat. 
"  Is  she — is  she — very  handsome,  Wrink  ?  " 

Wrinkles  replied  stoutly,  "  No." 

Grief  said  :  "  Let's  make  a  sneak  down  the 
hall  to  the  little  unoccupied  room  at  the  front 
of  the  building  and  look  from  the  window 
there.  When  they  go  out  we  can  pipe  'em 
off." 

"  Come  on  ! "  they  exclaimed,  accepting  this 
plan  with  glee. 

Wrinkles  opened  the  door  and  seemed 
about  to  glide  away,  when  he  suddenly  turned 


THE   THIRD   VIOLET.  189 

and  shook  his  head.  "  It's  dead  wrong/'  he 
said,  ashamed. 

"  Oh,  go  on  !  "  eagerly  whispered  the  others* 
Presently  they  stole  pattering  down  the  corri- 
dor, grinning,  exclaiming,  and  cautioning  each 
other. 

At  the  window  Pennoyer  said  :  "  Now,  for 
heaven's  sake,  don't  let  them  see  you! — Be 
careful,  Grief,  you'll  tumble. — Don't  lean  on 
me  that  way,  Wrink ;  think  I'm  a  barn  door? 
Here  they  come.  Keep  back.  Don't  let  them 
see  you." 

"O-o-oh!"  said  Grief.  "Talk  about  a 
peach !  Well,  I  should  say  so." 

Florinda's  fingers  tore  at  Wrinkle's  coat 
sleeve.  "  Wrink,  Wrink,  is  that  her  ?  Is  that 
her?  On  the  left  of  Billie?  Is  that  her, 
Wrink  ?  " 

"What?  Yes.  Stop  punching  me!  Yes, 
I  tell  you !  That's  her.  Are  you  deaf  ?  " 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

IN  the  evening  Pennoyer  conducted  Flo- 
rinda  to  the  flat  of  many  fire-escapes.  After  a 
period  of  silent  tramping  through  the  great 
golden  avenue  and  the  street  that  was  being 
repaired,  she  said,  "  Penny,  you  are  very  good 
to  me." 

"  Why  ?  "  said  Pennoyer. 

"  Oh,  because  you  are.  You — you  are  very 
good  to  me,  Penny." 

"  Well,  I  guess  I'm  not  killing  myself." 

"  There  isn't  many  fellows  like  you." 

"No?" 

"  No.  There  isn't  many  fellows  like  you, 
Penny.  I  tell  you  'most  everything,  and  you 
just  listen,  and  don't  argue  with  me  and  tell 
me  I'm  a  fool,  because  you  know  that  it — be- 
cause you  know  that  it  can't  be  helped,  any- 
how." 

"  Oh,  nonsense,  you  kid  !     Almost  anybody 

would  be  glad  to " 

190 


THE   THIRD  VIOLET.  191 

"  Penny,  do  you  think  she  is  very  beauti- 
ful ?  "  Florinda's  voice  had  a  singular  quality 
of  awe  in  it. 

"  Well,"  replied  Pennoyer, "  I  don't  know." 

"  Yes,  you  do,  Penny.  Go  ahead  and  tell 
me." 

«  Well " 

"  Go  ahead." 

"  Well,  she  is  rather  handsome,  you 
know." 

"  Yes,"  said  Florinda,  dejectedly,  "  I  sup- 
pose she  is."  After  a  time  she  cleared  her 
throat  and  remarked  indifferently,  "  I  suppose 
Billie  cares  a  lot  for  her  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  imagine  that  he  does — in  a  way." 

"  Why,  of  course  he  does,"  insisted  Florin- 
da.  "  What  do  you  mean  by  *  in  a  way  '  ? 
You  know  very  well  that  Billie  thinks  his 
eyes  of  her." 

"  No,  I  don't." 

"  Yes,  you  do.  You  know  you  do.  You 
are  talking  in  that  way  just  to  brace  me  up. 
You  know  you  are." 

"  No,  I'm  not." 

"  Penny,"  said  Florinda  thankfully,  "  what 
makes  you  so  good  to  me  ?  " 


10.2  THE   THIRD  VIOLET. 

"  Oh,  I  guess  I'm  not  so  astonishingly  good 
to  you.  Don't  be  silly." 

"  But  you  are  good  to  me,  Penny.  You 
don't  make  fun  of  me  the  way — the  way  the 
other  boys  would.  You  are  just  as  good  as 
you  can  be. — But  you  do  think  she  is  beau- 
tiful, don't  you?" 

"  They  wouldn't  make  fun  of  you,"  said 
Pennoyer. 

"  But  do  you  think  she  is  beautiful  ?  " 

"  Look  here,  Splutter,  let  up  on  that,  will 
you  ?  You  keep  harping  on  one  string  all  the 
time.  Don't  bother  me  !  " 

"  But,  honest  now,  Penny,  you  do  think 
she  is  beautiful  ?  " 

"  Well,  then,  confound  it — no!  no  !  no  !  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  you  do,  Penny.  Go  ahead  now. 
Don't  deny  it  just  because  you  are  talking  to 
me.  Own  up,  now,  Penny.  You  do  think 
she  is  beautiful  ?  " 

"  Well,"  said  Pennoyer,  in  a  dull  roar  of 
irritation,  "  do  you  ?  " 

Florinda  walked  in  silence,  her  eyes  upon 
the  yellow  flashes  which  lights  sent  to  the 
pavement.  In  the  end  she  said,  "  Yes." 

"  Yes,  what  ?  "  asked  Pennoyer  sharply. 


THE   THIRD  VIOLET. 


193 


"  Yes,  she — yes,  she  is — beautiful." 

"  Well,  then  ? "  cried  Pennoyer,  abruptly 
closing  the  discussion. 

Florinda  announced  something  as  a  fact. 
"  Billie  thinks  his  eyes  of  her." 

"  How  do  you  know  he  does  ? " 

"  Don't  scold  at  me,  Penny.  You — 
you " 

"  I'm  not  scolding  at  you.  There  !  What 
a  goose  you  are,  Splutter !  Don't,  for  heaven's 
sake,  go  to  whimpering  on  the  street !  I  didn't 
say  anything  to  make  you  feel  that  way. 
Come,  pull  yourself  together." 

"  I'm  not  whimpering." 

"  No,  of  course  not ;  but  then  you  look  as 
if  you  were  on  the  edge  of  it.  What  a  little 
idiot ! " 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

WHEN  the  snow  fell  upon  the  clashing  life 
of  the  city,  the  exiled  stones,  beaten  by  myr- 
iad strange  feet,  were  told  of  the  dark,  silent 
forests  where  the  flakes  swept  through  the 
hemlocks  and  swished  softly  against  the  boul- 
ders. 

In  his  studio  Hawker  smoked  a  pipe,  clasp- 
ing his  knee  with  thoughtful,  interlocked  fin- 
gers. He  was  gazing  sourly  at  his  finished 
picture.  Once  he  started  to  his  feet  with 
a  cry  of  vexation.  Looking  back  over  his 
shoulder,  he  swore  an  insult  into  the  face  of 
the  picture.  He  paced  to  and  fro,  smoking 
belligerently  and  from  time  to  time  eying  it. 
The  helpless  thing  remained  upon  the  easel, 
facing  him. 

Hollanden  entered  and  stopped  abruptly 
at  sight  of  the  great  scowl.  "  What's  wrong 

now  ?  "  he  said. 

194 


THE  THIRD  VIOLET.  195 

Hawker  gestured  at  the  picture.  "  That 
dunce  of  a  thing.  It  makes  me  tired.  It 
isn't  worth  a  hang.  Blame  it ! " 

"  What  ? "  Hollanden  strode  forward  and 
stood  before  the  painting  with  legs  apart,  in 
a  properly  critical  manner.  "  What  ?  Why, 
you  said  it  was  your  best  thing." 

"  Aw  !  "  said  Hawker,  waving  his  arms, "  it's 
no  good  !  I  abominate  it !  I  didn't  get  what 
I  wanted,  I  tell  you.  I  didn't  get  what  I 
wanted.  That  ?  "  he  shouted,  pointing  thrust- 
way  at  it — "  that  ?  It's  vile !  Aw  !  it  makes 
me  weary." 

"  You're  in  a  nice  state,"  said  Hollanden, 
turning  to  take  a  critical  view  of  the  painter. 
"  What  has  got  into  you  now  ?  I  swear,  you 
are  more  kinds  of  a  chump,!  " 

Hawker  crooned  dismally  :  "  I  can't  paint ! 
I  can't  paint  for  a  damn !  I'm  no  good. 
What  in  thunder  was  I  invented  for,  anyhow, 
Hollie  ?  " 

"  You're  a  fool,"  said  Hollanden.  "  I  hope 
to  die  if  I  ever  saw  such  a  complete  idiot ! 
You  give  me  a  pain.  Just  because  she 
don't " 

"  It  isn't  that.     She  has  nothing  to  do  with 


196  THE   THIRD  VIOLET. 

it,  although  I  know  well  enough — I  know  well 
enough " 

"  What  ?  " 

"  I  know  well  enough  she  doesn't  care  a 
hang  for  me.  It  isn't  that.  It  is  because — it 
is  because  I  can't  paint.  Look  at  that  thing 
over  there  !  Remember  the  thought  and  en- 
ergy I Damn  the  thing !  " 

"  Why,  did  you  have  a  row  with  her  ?  " 
asked  Hollanden,  perplexed.  "  I  didn't 
know " 

"  No,  of  course  you  didn't  know,"  cried 
Hawker,  sneering  ;  "  because  I  had  no  row. 
It  isn't  that,  I  tell  you.  But  I  know  well 
enough  " —  he  shook  his  fist  vaguely — "  that 
she  don't  care  an  old  tomato  can  for  me. 
Why  should  she  ?  "  he  demanded  with  a  curi- 
ous defiance.  "  In  the  name  of  Heaven,  why 
should  she  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Hollanden  ;  "  I  don't 
know,  I'm  sure.  But,  then,  women  have  no 
social  logic.  This  is  the  great  blessing  of  the 
world.  There  is  only  one  thing  which  is  su- 
perior to  the  multiplicity  of  social  forms,  and 
that  is  a  woman's  mind — a  young  woman's 
mind.  Oh,  of  course,  sometimes  they  are 


THE   THIRD  VIOLET. 

logical,  but  let  a  woman  be  so  once,  and  she 
will  repent  of  it  to  the  end  of  her  days.  The 
safety  of  the  world's  balance  lies  in  woman's 
illogical  mind.  I  think " 

"  Go  to  blazes  !  "  said  Hawker.  "  I  don't 
care  what  you  think.  I  am  sure  of  one  thing, 
and  that  is  that  she  doesn't  care  a  hang  for 
me!" 

"  I  think,"  Hollanden  continued,  "  that 
society  is  doing  very  well  in  its  work  of 
bravely  la  wing  away  at  Nature ;  but  there  is 
one  immovable  thing — a  woman's  illogical 
mind.  That  is  our  safety.  Thank  Heaven, 
it " 

"  Go  to  blazes  !  "  said  Hawker  again. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

As  Hawker  again  entered  the  room  of  the 
great  windows  he  glanced  in  sidelong  bitter- 
ness at  the  chandelier.  When  he  was  seated 
he  looked  at  it  in  open  defiance  and  hatred. 

Men  in  the  street  were  shovelling  at  the 
snow.  The  noise  of  their  instruments  scrap- 
ing on  the  stones  came  plainly  to  Hawker's 
ears  in  a  harsh  chorus,  and  this  sound  at  this 
time  was  perhaps  to  him  a  miserere. 

"  I  came  to  tell  you,"  he  began,  "  I  came 
to  tell  you  that  perhaps  I  am  going  away." 

"  Going  away  !  "  she  cried.     "  Where  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  don't  know — quite.  You  see,  I 
am  rather  indefinite  as  yet.  I  thought  of 
going  for  the  winter  somewhere  in  the  South- 
ern States.  I  am  decided  merely  this  much, 
you  know — I  am  going  somewhere.  But  I 
don't  know  where.  'Way  off,  anyhow." 

"  We  shall  be  very  sorry  to  lose  you,"  she 

remarked.     "  We " 

198 


THE   THIRD  VIOLET.  199 

"And  I  thought,"  he  continued,  "that  I 
would  come  and  say  *  adios '  now  for  fear 
that  I  might  leave  very  suddenly.  I  do 
that  sometimes.  I'm  afraid  you  will  for- 
get me  very  soon,  but  I  want  to  tell  you 
that " 

"Why,"  said  the  girl  in  some  surprise, 
"  you  speak  as  if  you  were  going  away  for  all 
time.  You  surely  do  not  mean  to  utterly 
desert  New  York?" 

"  I  think  you  misunderstand  me,"  he  said. 
"  I  give  this  important  air  to  my  farewell  to 
you  because  to  me  it  is  a  very  important 
event.  Perhaps  you  recollect  that  once  I 
told  you  that  I  cared  for  you.  Well,  I  still 
care  for  you,  and  so  I  can  only  go  away 
somewhere — some  place  Vay  off — where — 
where See?" 

"  New  York  is  a  very  large  place,"  she 
observed. 

"  Yes,  New  York  is  a  very  large How 

good  of  you  to  remind  me !  But  then  you 
don't  understand.  You  can't  understand.  I 
know  I  can  find  no  place  where  I  will  cease 
to  remember  you,  but  then  I  can  find  some 
place  where  I  can  cease  to  remember  in  a 


200  THE   THIRD  VIOLET. 

way  that  I  am  myself.  I  shall  never  try  to 
forget  you.  Those  two  violets,  you  know — 
one  I  found  near  the  tennis  court  and  the 
other  you  gave  me,  you  remember — I  shall 
take  them  with  me." 

"  Here,"  said  the  girl,  tugging  at  her  gown 
for  a  moment — "  Here  !  Here's  a  third  one." 
She  thrust  a  violet  toward  him. 

"  If  you  were  not  so  serenely  insolent," 
said  Hawker,  "  I  would  think  that  you  felt 
sorry  for  me.  I  don't  wish  you  to  feel  sorry 
for  me.  And  I  don't  wish  to  be  melodramatic. 
I  know  it  is  all  commonplace  enough,  and  I 
didn't  mean  to  act  like  a  tenor.  Please  don't 
pity  me." 

"  I  don't,"  she  replied.  She  gave  the  violet 
a  little  fling. 

Hawker  lifted  his  head  suddenly  and  glow- 
ered at  her.  "  No,  you  don't,"  he  at  last  said 
slowly,  "you  don't.  Moreover,  there  is  no 
reason  why  you  should  take  the  trouble. 
But " 

He  paused  when  the  girl  leaned  and 
peered  over  the  arm  of  her  chair  precisely  in 
the  manner  of  a  child  at  the  brink  of  a  foun- 
tain. "There's  my  violet  on  the  floor,"  she 


THE   THIRD  VIOLET.  2QI 

said.  "  You  treated  it  quite  contemptuously, 
didn't  you  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

Together  they  started  at  the  violet.  Fi- 
nally he  stooped  and  took  it  in  his  fingers.  "  I 
feel  as  if  this  third  one  was  pelted  at  me,  but  I 
shall  keep  it.  You  are  rather  a  cruel  person, 
but,  Heaven  guard  us !  that  only  fastens  a 
man's  love  the  more  upon  a  woman." 

She  laughed.  "  That  is  not  a  very  good 
thing  to  tell  a  woman." 

"  No,"  he  said  gravely,  "  it  is  not,  but  then 
I  fancy  that  somebody  may  have  told  you 
previously." 

She  stared  at  him,  and  then  said,  "  I  think 
you  are  revenged  for  my  serene  insolence." 

"Great  heavens,  what  .an  armour!"  he 
cried.  "  I  suppose,  after  all,  I  did  feel  a  trifle 
like  a  tenor  when  I  first  came  here,  but  you 
have  chilled  it  all  out  of  me.  Let's  talk  upon 
indifferent  topics."  But  he  started  abruptly 
to  his  feet.  "  No,"  he  said,  "  let  us  not  talk 
upon  indifferent  topics.  I  am  not  brave,  I 
assure  you,  and  it — it  might  be  too  much  for 
me."  He  held  out  his  hand.  "  Good-bye." 

"  You  are  going  ? " 


202  THE   THIRD  VIOLET. 

"  Yes,  I  am  going.  Really  I  didn't  think 
how  it  would  bore  you  for  me  to  come  around 
here  and  croak  in  this  fashion." 

"  And  you  are  not  coming  back  for  a  long, 
long  time  ?  " 

"  Not  for  a  long,  long  time."  He  mimicked 
her  tone.  "  I  have  the  three  violets  now,  you 
know,  and  you  must  remember  that  I  took 
the  third  one  even  when  you  flung  it  at  my 
head.  That  will  remind  you  how  submissive 
I  was  in  my  devotion.  When  you  recall  the 
two  others  it  will  remind  you  of  what  a  fool  I 
was.  Dare  say  you  won't  miss  three  violets." 

"  No,"  she  said. 

"Particularly  the  one  you  flung  at  my 
head.  That  violet  was  certainly  freely — 
given." 

"  I  didn't  fling  it  at  your  head."  She  pon- 
dered for  a  time  with  her  eyes  upon  the  floor. 
Then  she  murmured,  "  No  more  freely — given 
than  the  one  I  gave  you  that  night — that  night 
at  the  inn." 

"  So  very  good  of  you  to  tell  me  so  !  " 

Her  eyes  were  still  upon  the  floor. 

"  Do  you  know,"  said  Hawker,  "  it  is  very 
hard  to  go  away  and  leave  an  impression  in 


THE   THIRD   VIOLET.  203 

your  mind  that  I  am  a  fool?  That  is  very 
hard.  Now,  you  do  think  I  am  a  fool,  don't 
you?" 

She  remained  silent.  Once  she  lifted  her 
eyes  and  gave  him  a  swift  look  with  much  in- 
dignation in  it. 

"  Now  you  are  enraged.  Well,  what  have 
I  done?" 

It  seemed  that  some  tumult  was  in  her 
mind,  for  she  cried  out  to  him  at  last  in  sud- 
den tearfulness :  "  Oh,  do  go !  Go !  Please ! 
I  want  you  to  go  !  " 

Under  this  swift  change  Hawker  appeared 
as  a  man  struck  from  the  sky.  He  sprang  to 
his  feet,  took  two  steps  forward,  and  spoke  a 
word  which  was  an  explosion  of  delight  and 
amazement.  He  said,  "  What?" 

With  heroic  effort  she  slowly  raised  her 
eyes  until,  alight  with  anger,  defiance,  unhap- 
piness,  they  met  his  eyes. 

Later,  she  told  him  that  he  was  perfectly 
ridiculous. 

THE  END. 


